On Some Backwater Planet
by Charles Bhepin
Summary: It seems to be your typical 'summoned to another world' story. Only, the main character is first stuffed into the PTSD-filled braincase of an ARM Commander, then punted into the one Planet well capable of killing him with its mind. This can only end in tears. Or hilarity.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

* * *

The screams of trillions echo still. Within me, they are forever captured in their final moments.

I should have gone mad long ago.

And in fact, I did – in those millennia of total war, I was a creature of hate and spite. But the "I" that existed in this watery grave was different from the "myself" that fought in that futile doctrinal conflict. It was my body that slaughtered those worlds, and the memory of atomics ripping asunder a world of rust and iron linger in the hollows of my mind.

Yet mad, I am not.

I remember the taste of hot chocolate at midnight (the ringing sound of bombers diving).

I remember the ignored pang of hunger as the screen scrolls by with an updated story (the whirr of plasma cannons firing from behind the hills).

I remember the Christmas with the family (they're dead, all dead, no one's left).

I remember dying under the rubble (lasers biting into my chest).

Light, blinding light, as everything ends.

* * *

Yet instead, there I lay, in the crushing lightless depths. Why?

Who cares?

It's cold.

It's fine.

Why should I get up?

The war's done.

We thought we'd won, when we finally broke through to the enemy's homeworld and shattered it along with their last commander. After millennia of conflict, peace at last.

But even in defeat, their malice knew no limits. And so, drowning in our victory, we were unmade.

A galaxy died, with a whimper.

Why should I get up?

The "me" that did not know war can barely keep it together.

The "me" that lived through that war is tortured by the thought of survival.

I'm alone.

It's dark.

I'm done.

* * *

…

Hm?

For countless eons I've slept. Yet for the first time, something pierced my solitude.

Forgotten circuits suddenly blazed with alertness. Combat protocols suddenly erupted with blinding urgency, a torrent of insistent clamor sluicing into the back of my skull. I ignore them. Passive sensors treated the surrounding ocean like a second skin. Light and radiation filtering through the depths hinted at something messy happening up at the surface.

… should I?

The "me" that did not know war still remembered the concept of altruism.

The "me" that lived through that war hoped that this is the enemy.

Clouds of silt erupted around me as I stood up for the first time in however many centuries.

Light flooded the deeps. First, a strip of green from a head that looked far too much like a bucket. Then, blazing green, from an arm that ended in a massive open barrel. For a few moments, I watched dancing green particles spiral around my inhuman exterior, cleaning my body of grime and crusted oceanic life.

Meanwhile, my body once more experienced slow resurrection. Warmth. Heartbeat. Somnolent Fluid slowly drained out of my veins to be replaced with freshly synthesized blood.

For the first time in centuries, I inhaled. Pain lancing up my ribs made me feel like laughing, which only added to the pain, which only added to the hilarity. I only stopped when my suit shocked me with a defillibrator.

I looked at my left hand, mortal flesh again.

I closed my eyes and extended my arm, a Commander again.

Streams of green particles shot forth towards the ocean floor. An outline formed of teleported photons formed.

And so I laid down my first Metal Extractor.

* * *

_Meanwhile, on a backwater planet, a CORE Commander has finished building a Metal Extractor._

_\- the death knell to many a science fiction versus debate_

* * *

####

MEMSTOR keyword "**Total Annihilation**"

\- n retrieved:

What began as a conflict over the transfer of consciousness from flesh to machines escalated into a war which has decimated a million worlds. The _CORE_ and the _ARM_ have all but exhausted the resources of a galaxy in their struggle for domination. Both sides now crippled beyond repair, the remnants of the remnants of their armies continue to battle on ravaged planets, their hatred fueled by over four thousand years of total war. The only acceptable outcome is the total extermination of the other.

MEMSTOR keyword "**CORE**"

\- n retrieved:

The **CO**nsciousness** RE**pository was the benevolent central authority of artificial intelligences that provided much of the technological and economic breakthroughs that allowed humanity to colonize the galaxy and enter a Golden Age. Among these critical technologies are the **nanolathe**, the **matter/antimatter** reactor, and the **Galactic Gates**. The discovery of **patterning**, which allows a human consciousness to be transferred into a machine, theoretically granted an indefinite lifespan to humans.

CORE required everyone to undergo patterning as a public health measure. The colonies founded along the edges of the galaxy (the ARM) rebelled, preferring not to leave their natural bodies to join ARM's machine-only civilization. Its homeworld was CORE PRIME, a world completely plated over with metal. See also keyword "**fictional:Cybertron**".

MEMSTOR keyword "**ARM**"

\- n retrieved:

The **ARM** was a coalition of different human civilizations and space empires that fought against CORE (see keywords: **Galactic War Reports**, **NEWSBOT Archives**, **CaveDog**). Due to CORE's advantage in their near-limitless manpower in the form of patterned personality chips embedded into robots, the ARM was forced to rely on mass-produced clones as pilots for their own combat K-bots and vehicles.

In time, ARM and CORE had very little to separate them, except that CORE ran their minds on circuitry while ARM had units piloted by clone brains similarly crafted by a nanolathe. Their homeworld was the lush world of **Empyrean**, which remained mostly pristine in a war that drained a galaxy dry of resources.

MEMSTOR keyword "**ARM Commander**"

\- n retrieved:

The ARM Commander is the finest warrior mind the ARM ever produced. A genius at strategy, he was crucial at defending against the initial CORE invasions and came to understand how to fight the CORE on their own terms. To be able to stand up against the CORE's advantages, the ARM copied the ARM Commander's mind into thousands upon thousands of clones, each given a specialized K-Bot unit that would take the fight to the enemy.

The ARM Commander is a massive K-Bot with the most powerful nanolathe in existence, capable of constructing whole factories in seconds. Placed onto a planet, they could swiftly build their own armies within hours. Equipped with a personal Stealth Generator, and inserted behind enemy lines by the Galactic Gates (which had mass limits, making conventional assaults unfeasible), they wreaked havoc against unprepared CORE forces.

CORE created their own similarly accomplished counterpart – the CORE Commander.

MEMSTOR keyword "**The CORE Contingency**"

\- n retrieved:

Should ARM manage to prevail and destroy CORE PRIME, a hidden backup CORE Commander is to be reactivated and transform an ancient alien artifact into the Galactic Implosion Device. This device, aptly named, will collapse the entire galaxy into a singularity, which would then explode again to coalesce into new stars and a new galaxy. The single remaining CORE Commander would remain inside the machine, and will step out as the sole survivor to rebuild the glory that is CORE.


	2. Extraction 01

Chapter One: Extraction [1]

* * *

The name Tidal Generator was actually a misnomer. In a war where thirty minutes might as well be an eternity, could we wait for tides to arrive? We fought on worlds without moons, why does it matter?

Instead, there were actually several different types of Tidal Generators – one for extracting energy from surface waves, another for inlets with higher velocity water flow, another for taking advantage of currents along an ocean shelf, another for deep waters, and other even more modular forms.

The Tidal Generator I decided to build was anchored to the seabed. It was a tower made of interlocking blades sheathed by a funnel that pulled energy from ocean currents. The cap over at the surface of course still operated upon the ebb and flow of ocean waves. No part of the structure is wasted in the goal of capturing energy for the war effort.

In two minutes I'd laid down six of them.

Such were the build times when you're working with a nanolathe. Megawatts of energy churned ready to be tapped via quantum gate.

Similarly, the Metal Extractor was more than just a mine. It was a web of filaments extracting the rare metals so necessary for the assembly of nanobots. The resource named 'metal' was actually made of refined and prepared nanobots ready for teleportation to the nanolathe.

I had three Metal Extractors, spaced about a kilometer apart.

It took three minutes to set up my seed economy. I stopped for several more minutes, ignoring the screaming memories that said I was wasting time. Lay down a Shipyard, my instincts said. Get a Construction Ship, then some Skeeter-class Scout Ships for exploration.

In five minutes, I could throw up fortifications to defend against combined air-sea assault.

In ten minutes, an Advanced Shipyard, while banking my Energy and Metal outputs into massive building-sized Storage Units. Soon – Fusion Plants and whole fields of Floating Metal Makers. These devices converted Energy to Matter, specifically the rare elements needed for our most complex circuits.

In fifteen, Battleships and Carriers in the hundreds of thousands of tons escorted by whole squadrons of Seaplanes.

Time is a greater resource than either energy or metal. This is the way I waged war. On tens of thousands of fronts, I threw away millions of K-bots and cloned pilots. On others, whole armies walked under cloak.

For the Commander, it is **knowledge **that is _**the strongest weapon**_.

Find the enemy. Avoid contact or harass their economy. If I am to gain a foothold, then I must avoid attention and use my defensive posture to beat back assaults until I'm in the position to strike back.

A concentrated defense around the landing site has ever been the first priority. The advantage for the defender is ludicrous. But overwhelming force striking hard when you're not expecting it? That can crush even the strongest defensive line. The "me" that studied World War Two can only think of the Maginot Line. Pick a spot. Punch through.

But instead of a border defensive line, think of a wall that straddles a world.

* * *

I was about a hundred kilometers away from the battle site that woke me up. My Sonar Stations in passive mode could hear what remained of two fleets limping away from the encounter. The victors of this battle did not lose any ships, and gave no thought to taking aboard the enemy. Well, at least they didn't take the time to summarily kill all survivors.

Strange, though. The sound signatures were much lower than what I expected, for the outrageous amounts of energy released in the fight. I guessed they must be using some form of hydrofoil.

Why did I choose not to intervene immediately? Even as an ARM Commander, I was only one unit. There was little I could do to prevent sailors from drowning. What could save more people was to keep them warm and fed and sheltered from the elements.

(Shipyard?)

(Shipyard?)

Yes, fine. Shipyard.

I burned through half my reserves of Metal for a gargantuan half-sunken platform. The drain was an almost physical pain. I took a minute off to recover again. My nanolathe could not create units and vehicles, only structures. Only a factory had the blueprints and the wide-area nanolathes to construct hulls.

One could think of it as the difference between a program compressed into a zip file, and one that's ready to run. I had the blueprints for the thing that contained its own blueprints.

But instead of a Construction Ship, I ordered a Hulk-class Transport Ship. It would take a while to nanolathe.

Those were the longest, most terror-filled three minutes of my life. All the while, my memories were shouting something like (You fool! You're messing with the build order! _You don't mess with the order!_)

I knew I could not have survived the CORE Commander's Implosion Device. I knew I, as someone born on 21st century Earth, in the Terra Prime long forgotten, could not possibly have been part of the ARM Commander's memory banks. My memories were far too distinct for a holographic record, but at the same time neither could I deny that the great bulk of my memories spoke only of total war. The sheer relief at the war's end - the desolation of total defeat - they filled me.

It was perhaps this illogical, archaic personality and the emotional distance it offered that kept me from just placing the D-Cannon against my chest and pulling the trigger.

As I waited, I pondered two more questions:

1) As the ARM Commander, my body was nothing more than meat. If I leave this Commander unit, even if I die out there it could remake me in perfect detail within itself. I would however, lose all the experiences gained by my clone outside. Should I send in the clones?

2) The ocean was rather thick with plant life. I reclaimed them for Energy. So, what planet is this? It was oddly familiar for some reason, but neither of my selves could place that feeling.

The Hulk was prepared. It was a massive barge, nearly kilometer long from bow to stern, and a third of that from port to starboard, it designed to carry a full brigade into battle (back when we still used things as trite as military formations). Its superstructure was dominated by a colossal crane, with the ship's bridge right below. I moved to shallower where its derrick could pick me up.

The end of the crane's arm could pick me up either magnetically or in a scoop. I chose to cling onto the arm and ride up, surveying the horizon as if I were a mountaineer planting a flag.

As we moved, I ordered the Shipyard start building that Construction Ship so demanded.

The Hulk Transport, like all ARM units, was commanded by clones. However, in the war we had long ago realized that it was not necessary to clone the entire body. Nor was it important that the command brain be sapient – it only needed to follow orders. I knew the CORE also ran their lesser units on rudimentary and less resource-intensive AI.

The Hulk's mind was a like that of sedate cow. I decided to name it Matilda.

* * *

And off we sailed towards the place where the crew on lifeboats had already lost all hope for rescue. They were in the middle of the ocean, their supplies and water filtration systems could only last for so long, and their own people were in no position to send out ships for rescue.

I learned later on that when this absurd hulk of a ship came into view, their first thought was that their enemy had come back to finish them off. It took them some time to risk sending a message on an open frequency.

The "me" that fought CORE would not recognize that language.

It was easy for me to recognize it as English. Excellent!

That narrows down how many possible planets this could be. At least it's not Naboo.

Fucking Gungans. **I **am the Bigger Fish!

"This is the ARM Free Ship Matilda. I'm here to offer assistance." I replied. "Be warned: I don't have any medical supplies, but at least I can fish you out of the drink. Are you receiving, over?"

"Roger that, Matilda. The crews of the Gaian ships Dawn Greeter and Rosinbloom thank you."

Wait a sec.

The unease spreading through the linked circuitry crystallized the moment I saw the sigil on their lifeboats. A red and black flower, upon a green diamond box made out of thorns.

Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck.

The Hulk's crane picked up their lifeboats and laid them onto itself. Their panic and anger at the rude rescue faded quickly, and hesitantly they decided to step out onto the deck.

It was a mixed crew of men and women. Their captain saluted as I approached. I was still wearing my combat suit, and I could tell the crew had to consciously hold off on drawing their sidearms.

The captain's eyes flicked once, carefully noting how the deck was completely devoid of crew. "My thanks, sir. I am Captain Jacob Nobel of the Rosinbloom. We're ever in your debt."

I forced a smile onto my face. "No thanks needed, Captain Nobel. You may call me… Nemo. I'm always ready to assist the peace-loving Stepdaughters of Gaia." I saluted once, then held out my hand for a friendly handshake between equals.

The "me" that fought the galactic war against CORE was wondering why I was freaking out so much about these people on this one pissant planet.

* * *

MEMSTOR keyword "**nanolathe**"

\- n retrieved:

Nano-lathing: Tiny robots (10 microns across or less) are sprayed onto a powered skeleton. They each 'know' allowable places they may link up (as well as being guided by the powerful intelligence within the nano-lathing unit) and as they settle into position they fuse creating solid material. Then a second stage of nano-lathing occurs where highly specialized nano-bots seek out precise locations on this skeleton to form optical links, weapon systems, intelligences, and other internal components.

Provided there is a blueprint, anything can be built with nano-lathing.


	3. Extraction 02

Chapter One - Extraction [2]

* * *

Oh wow, you could just taste the hostility in the air. "Stand down!" Captain Nobel barked in a hurry. On my face remained a blank smile.

In my mind, I was going (_Well, shit. So the Nautilus Pirates are a thing? I… may be contractually obligated to hunt down and exterminate pirate scum._) Slowly I withdrew my hand. "If you know your classics well, Captain, you should also know that Nemo has more reason than anyone to despise pirates."

He sighed and rubbed at his faceplate. "Please, I apologize for my crew. They're just stressed. We mean you no harm and we're still thankful for the rescue…" and here he coughed "Mister Nemo? **_Captain_** Nemo?"

"Commander, if you please. There's only so far we can go having fun with the classics."

"Commander Nemo, then. Again, my thanks. The Gaian Navy will surely compensate your time for this."

I waved aside. "Don't worry about it. Welcome aboard the Matilda. I'm going to have to apologize for the lack of creature comforts." I looked past him to the lifeboats. "Actually, do you have any coffee in your supplies? I haven't had any in _ages_. This ship doesn't even have a kitchen."

Confusion settled across his features. The Hulk-class Matilda was, very obviously, a ship made for the long haul. You could take half an army of troops in one. Even a civilian cargo ship, made to maximize container capacity, was designed to make life as convenient as possible for its crew.

Captain Nobel licked his lips, his lower teeth catching the edge of his bushy mustache, and hesitantly broke the unmissable detail. "May I ask, where is the rest of your crew, Commander?"

"There isn't any." I replied with a somewhat demented grin. "This ship was completed in a hurry and it's on autonav." I spread out my arms. "If you're willing to fight me to seize it, you'll probably succeed."

He blinked in surprise, but rallied quickly. "Oh. I don't think that's any –"

"But that doesn't matter anyway. I'm going to give it to you. Captain Nobel! I, Commander Nemo, formally declare my intent to defect to the Gaian Faction of the planet Chiron."

"What."

* * *

The Matilda was just a big-ass barge.

Early in the war, we'd already decided to abandon such silly things are MREs in favor of intravenous nutrient feeds. Flash-cloned soldiers had a life-expectancy of seconds. The plans for the Hulk-class Transport Vessel held in my memory banks was never meant to service human beings.

The bridge still had manual controls though. The actually command core was buried deep in the bowels of the ship. Such an artifact remained because there was still the possibility of a human being taking control; the only human being in an army of K-bots. Me.

The ARM Commander.

It's not like it added any more seconds to the nanolathing. We did have to remove the kitchen and the mess hall to make room for more K-Bots. Complexity was never an issue, but volume could not be compromised.

I've fought in planets were the sky was literally poison, the seas literally acid. This version of the Hulk was the design used during the very apex of the War, just prior to the siege on Core Prime. Yet in the Hulk there was still the possibility for life support and environmentally-sealed chambers.

Is it not inefficient?

I guess some small part of me hoped that we might find some pocket of human life out there, somehow having escaped the war. Somehow I hoped that a refugee ship might be needed.

Even Empyrean was not spared. There were no more civilians. Our only hope was to defeat the CORE and then, using stored genetic material and mental maps, rebuild our civilization using clones. It was perhaps the greatest irony of the war that we had to rely on something practically identical to the CORE's demand for mind uploads – patterning – only the difference is that we worked the opposite way. Fresh brains made with old minds.

A part of me still believes it is that hope which gave us strength and drive greater than the cold logic of CORE. The mind that hopes, that entertains delusions when there is no hope of success, is one that can dare where the odds speak against it, and somehow prevail.

It was not hatred that drove us to Core Prime. It was the fervent belief that the end was in sight.

We won against the brilliance of the CORE Commander because our minds sang with promise of victory. We leapt past the limitations of the program. And the murder-machine that was CORE was extinguished at last.

Prior to the CORE Contingency, there was a hundred years of peace, a rebirth of civilization, and time to rediscover the lost technologies. Civilian technologies like micro-lathes, the stored holographic build patterns of ancient cultural treasures, and genetic recipes for long-extinct flora and fauna - we rebuilt. And we sang. I experienced very little of that, the last and victorious ARM Commander choosing to rest at last.

The sword, once turned into a plowshare, has no place in the new galaxy. And that was just fine.

I chose this pattern of the Hulk because it was the easiest to produce and lacked the micro-lathes that could replicate near anything out of raw Metal and Energy. As I said, this ship would be my gift to the Gaians.

Why them?

Because "I" am different from the "me" that fought CORE. I cannot bear to remake ARM again from the genetic information in my databanks. I am a human being that craves companionship that won't look at me as if I'm some form of a god. I cannot be a culture's progenitor, no, not again.

It feels… disrespectful… to the children that I've failed to protect.

The Gaians may end up proving totally nutso, but at least they may be _manageable_ nutbars.

The sixteen survivors lounged around the control room, sitting on the bare hull. The ship, to them, looked very obviously unfinished. Yet, the fact still remained that it was such a big-ass ship. It was practically a floating base. It could be useful in so very many ways. Now they could finally take off their clumsy enviro-suits with the large transparent helmets. As they ate biscuits and drank their coffee, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, they shot suspicious glances towards where I and Captain Nobel stood over a tabletop that doubled as a tactical screen.

"Lady Dierdre is always ready to accept new citizens into the fold, but if you're going to formally defect, doesn't that mean you need to say who – or what – you're defecting _from?_" (Where did this monster of a ship come from?!) he wanted to ask, but didn't want to breach propriety with his rescuer.

"I am Nemo. I'm as stateless as you can get." I paused to take a sip from the plastic cup-cover of a battery-powered thermal flask. Hot instant coffee - ah. Such bliss. "I guess you could say… I am a defector from decadence?"

His eyes narrowed. Morgans? Probably Morgans. It was predictable, they were the only ones on Planet with the industrial capacity for this. And the whole thing does look like something stolen out of drydock.

"You people don't have a world map yet?" I asked in turn. "Whatever happened to the planetary survey?"

"The Unity was sabotaged on the approach to the Alpha Centauri system. There was no time to perform a survey." The question didn't trouble him, it seemed it may not be common knowledge. But then "… what do you mean 'you people'?" Captain Nobel asked in a carefully even tone.

"Uh. Gaians? You know. People. A cultural group?" I blinked. "Did I say something offensive? If so, I apologize."

"No, no. I'm the one who should apologize." He sighed again and sagged. He lost three ships just less than an hour ago, and over three dozen comrades. "I'm over-reacting. Please, excuse me."

I must have triggered something from how the Spartans act with the pacifistic Gaians. For it was they that attacked and destroyed the convoy and its escorts. I turned to the map again.

The Gaians were settled along the left side of the vertical chain of mountains called the Pholus Ridge. It was the upper-left part of an L-shaped continent that they shared with two other factions. Below them, near the center around the great Freshwater Sea were the Spartans. Then to the right of them, the Morganites.

I pointed to the Sea of Nessus right below the Morgans territory. "You are very far from home, Captain."

To reach it, they either must go through the Howling Straits along southern polar caps, which is completely under Spartan control, or the _very_ long way around the continent up towards the Great Northern Ocean, down the Sea of Pholus, head east through the Mouth of Hercules, carefully navigate through the Straits of Prometheus, circle around past the Geothermal Shallows and around the Ixion isle that contained the supervolcano Mount Planet, past its partner isle, some more island chains, then finally the deep Sea of Nessus.

Obviously, most trade happened around the Mouth of Hercules, since above it is the continent where the University of Planet and Peacekeepers lived. But what was valuable enough to send the Gaians into the Sea of Nessus?

Caution warred with gratitude on Nobel's face, until finally he relented. "We were scouting ahead for a Sea Colony Pod. The ocean shelf off to the west of the Nephelen Isle has the potential for a self-sustaining trade base. The Morgans were willing to allow us to set up a colony because they... lack the patience to stay in one place too far from the intrigues and luxuries of their celebrities. They get the benefit of extra income from tariffs, but they don't have to work for any of it offshore."

"Why would the Spartans attack you? Are you at war?"

He shook his head. "The Spartans are blockading the Nessus Gulf, forcing the Morgans to send their goods all the way around the Pheres Arch to the mines at Ixion and vice versa." At least the Sea Colony Pod managed to get away. A thousand civilians… surely not even the Spartans would be that murderous? "Our attempt to build a colony, and our neutrality, may have seemed a way for Morgan Industries to loophole through the conflict between them and the Spartan Federation."

I clacked my tongue. "You know, I don't personally have _any_ experience with Santiago's faction, but I have a strong feeling after attacking your ships they'll use this as a _casus belli_ anyway. They're going to extort Lady Deidre for the effort of killing you, or risk even more of her people being put to the sword."

Nobel hissed. "Quite so, sir. That is my fear."

People dying for little more than political points; no wonder Gaians seemed so isolationist. This deal with the Morganites surely had some hell of a sweetener. I guessed that with the Gaian emphasis on ecological harmony, they had very poor resource extraction from the mountains of the Pholus Ridge. Later I would learn that a lot of their income came from offshore kelp farms and tidal harnesses, rather than messy Mines and Solar Collectors.

The game was just an abstraction. I could not be sure that they could really command Mind Worms just from a positive Planet rating in the early phase of colonization. Some of my other memories hinted that the Gaians only managed to make practical combat use of Mind Worms at a time when Needlejets and Hovertanks were in use. And against Morganite troops at that.

"I see. Well. This doesn't impact my decision to apply for citizenship," I gestured around the bridge "But as you can see, this ship really isn't meant for long-term occupancy. I may have to put you to shore on a Morgan base, then sail off towards Gaia's Landing. Is that acceptable?"

Nobel nodded. "That would be fine, Commander. You'll have our commendations radioed ahead."

"The Matilda isn't very fast. It'll take a day or so whether we go north or east." Probably better to head north anyway, for a much shorter trip home.

"Our supplies were meant to last for nine days, up to fifteen with rationing." Yet it was clear he had no confidence the Morgans would send any rescue ships at all. "Sir, we cannot thank you enough. But are you sure that it's fine for you?"

"The Morgans have no… legitimate… reason to be hostile to me, captain."

He didn't look much convinced.

* * *

By early morning the next day, the Matilda's radar made out a landmass nearby. Also, two ships on the approach.

"Attention, unidentified vessel! You are entering Morgan territory. Halt and state your purpose, or we will be forced to declare you a hostile entity and due lethal force. This is your first and final warning!"

"Good morning Morgan ships! This is the ARM Free Vessel Matilda. I bear you no harm and just want to dock and offload some people you might be missing." I replied over the radio, then gave way for Captain Nobel.

"This is Captain Nobel, previously of the Gaian ship Rosinbloom. We passed through this area four days ago. Our ships were sunk by Spartan ships in an unprovoked attack. We were picked up by the Matilda, and we would very much appreciate it if we were allowed to disembark and contact our Embassy."

"Cut your engines, Matilda. You will submit to a search."

"No problem." I responded.

Captain Nobel was sweating. I'd admitted to him last night that the Matilda had a Fusion power plant. The Morgans might decide to just keep this ship.

"Say, what are those Foils armed with, anyway?"

"I'm not sure, but it's likely they hold Gatling Lasers. Armor's probably Plasma Steel. They're deadly ships… maybe slightly more powerful than Spartan ships, but the Spartans just have more. Particle Impactors and Plasma Steel Foils aren't that much inferior."

"Mmm. What were your ships armed with, Captain?"

"Laser Cannons on a Sythmetal hull." There was no harm in admitting how the Gaians did not have advanced military technology.

The two Foils came abreast of the Matilda. They were 162 meters long, and how they looked so tiny seen from high up in the bridge tower. My deck was so tall, even the tallest portion of their mast barely reached halfway. The Gaian crews had to lower down a ladder.

And quite soon enough, I had heavily-armed men inside my control room pointing guns at my face. I grinned.

One of them walked over, put a hand on my shoulder, spun me around, and slammed my face onto the bridge consoles.

"That's uncalled for!" Captain Nobel yelled. "We have diplomatic rights! This ship belongs to a neutral party to the war!"

"You've got no right to do this!" one of the Gaian crew shouted in support. She still did have her hands raised, because though a pacifist she was not a moron.

"Let him go!"

"Silence! We're taking command of this ship as a possible security risk. You will be taken into custody pending an investigation. You **will **comply." Morgan Security Forces in their matte black bodysuits nudged their rifles up, communicating how they'd have zero qualms at summarily executing everyone on the bridge.

"Ahm okay." I mumbled from having my face pressed onto a monitor. "It's only mah nose that's busted." The grin on my face was bloody yet unbroken.

Captain Nobel's sour face showed that he was starting to realize that all-hands-lost scenario might make for a better martyr story to drive the Gaians into the war just to distract the Spartans.

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Unity Mission**"

\- n received:

In 2060, after decades of resource wars and a world apparently plunging inevitably into self-destruction, the leaders of the world united to construct a massive colony ship so that mankind would have fresh start elsewhere. The starship **Unity** was launched towards Alpha Centauri in the year 2060. Ten thousand crew, disavowing their previous countries of origin, so that they may start anew without the baggage that caused so much internecine conflict on Earth, would colonize the planet named "**Chiron**".

However, on the approach to the star system, unknown saboteurs damaged the Unity and Captain Garland, the only man respected by the different strong personalities of the command crew, was murdered by an unknown assailant. With the ship falling apart around them, the crew woke up the people sympathetic to their cause and evacuated the Unity on Colony Pods to land and begin anew on the planet below.

These would turn into the **Factions** of **Planet**, new cultures driven the by philosophies of their leaders.

Chiron was habitable, if just barely. It was a world hostile to the presence of mankind, but the greatest danger would always be each other. The Unity Mission was their last, best hope for unity - and now each of these factions leaders believe that they hold the true path for humanity's prosperity and enlightenment. Who will prove their cause to be the strongest and the most righteous in the end?

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Stepdaughters of Gaia**"

\- n received:

The Stepdaughters of Gaia (**Gaians**) are led by Deidre Skye, the Unity's Chief Biologist and Xenobotanist. They prefer a "**Green**" society, founded on ecological conservation and living in harmony with Planet.

_In the great commons at Gaia's Landing we have a tall and particularly beautiful stand of white pine, planted at the time of the first colonies. It represents our promise to the people, and to Planet itself, never to repeat the tragedy of Earth._

\- Lady Deirdre Skye, "Planet Dreams"


	4. Extraction 02 Interlude

**Ch1 Extraction [2.5] – Jacob Nobel**

* * *

The defining quality of a Tragedy is Hubris. The tragic hero staggers towards a painful end that is, ultimately, self-inflicted. And it must be that, though he has struggled against forces beyond his control and ultimately defeated, he gains a measure of new wisdom.

The Tragedy of Earth fit the mold. It was arrogance, and indolence, and selfishness, that brought billions headlong towards a fate miserable and inevitable.

The pains and terrors of Planet, and the deaths of so many good men and women since Planetfall… to call their fate tragic would be an insult. The greatest fear of the Gaians is that those children born on Planet, living with an environment inimical to human life, would not realize the price of hubris. Born on a planet that was paradise, that was the Song of Earth, squandered and debased, that was a Dirge of Earth.

But Planet, hardly so kind, it is so easy to treat it as an adversary.

The Morgans believed it was their right to take from the world all its resources, giving no thought to the native life that wanted to kill them. Why not, eh? It was only fair to take spoils from the enemy, and the whole world was their foe. The Spartans bared their teeth at Planet, burning and asserting their dominance over it. To a lesser extent, all others saw the xenofungus and its ecology as hindrance for the rebirth of human civilization.

No other faction on Planet sought to meet Planet as a new friend. They valued little about what they despoiled, for human survival was paramount.

The Stepdaughters of Gaia, finest biologists and biotechnics on Planet, agonized over hubris and inevitability. For this, they were ridiculed as deluded dreamers, putting mindless alien lives over human ones.

* * *

I was born in London, in the middle of the Resource Wars. Almost every other day, there was a food riot. Worse than how the rich were living it up in their walled compounds, the spread of genetic engineering gave rise to eugenic programs that made "Perfects" of their children. While outwardly it would difficult to prove being a designer baby, many "Perfects" were beautiful, long-lived, and resistant to common illnesses that characterized the human condition. They were stronger, lived faster, and many of them wasted their bodies in hedonistic bliss. Others gravitated naturally to positions of authority.

I remember I was nine years old, and it was the first time I saw someone crucified. The riot gangs had managed to ambush and overpower a food convoy. Among them, they found people they decided were "Perfects", who were lording it over humans on unearned stolen wealth, and sated their rage and frustrations upon them.

It was a cold November morning. I saw her tied onto a lamp-post, her pale skin almost glowing in the streams of sunlight slicing between buildings. And, well, she was beautiful no more. But half her face was left unmarred. I wondered if that was all the reason they had for deciding she was a test tube baby. She was too beautiful. So she had to be mutilated, she had to scream for mercy, and then she had to die. No one had ever shown the poor and hungry of the New Commonwealth any mercy no matter how much they begged.

_This is wrong_; I decided then. It was all wrong! I would never become a monster just because I was hungry. I would never be violent over anyone, just because I was in pain.

One of the policemen arriving to take down the corpses cuffed me by the side of the head, sending me down the street. "Little pervert," he spat, as I writhed there clutching my head, my vision whiting out in pain.

People who are hungry are rarely rational. I wanted to travel the world, because I was sure there was still decency somewhere. I went into bio-engineering because food plants that grew faster, on less water, on poor soils… these, more than all the most sophisticated military hardware, these were the best options for peace. I met Lady Deirdre while working under the UN Disaster Relief Fund to develop plant strains that could survive in irradiated soils or contaminated by heavy metals.

When the Unity Mission was launched, all of us felt that the billions on Earth were living on borrowed time. As the lid closed on my coldsleep pod, I could only pray that the inevitable apocalypse would not happen in my mother and little sister's lifetime. Ruth, my sister, punched me in the face when I said I might decide not to take that ticket and stay behind with them instead. To protect them.

Someone in the family getting away from this bloody nonsense, now that would really make them happy; I was told that. I was all but thrown out. I was their only hope for the future. My duty was not to the world, but for all those yet unborn.

It has been twenty-four years since Planetfall.

My little sister should be, what, 76 now? I wondered if she had married. My mother was getting weak with lung disease when I left… she only had from four to seven years to leave. Well, at least, I hoped they continued the family line. Certainly I wasn't contributing to it here. Neither team played well with me. Unlike the Hive or even the Peacekeepers, we had no population pressure towards a more productive workforce or consumer base.

"Captain, share a fag?" I heard someone speak up from behind me.

I turned around to see Jennefer Vickery, my second-in-command. I looked to the lit cigarette in my hands. I held it out to her. "This is all I'm going for these days, sadly."

She snorted and accepted the cigarette. Four months before, she was a pure as you could be, she'd blush at hearing a bad word. The sea life cured much of that. Can't be a sailor without an expansive vocabulary. And even old unhealthy habits such as smoking were tolerated to help toughen the sinuses for an inevitable whiff of Planet's poisonous atmosphere.

At twenty-two, she was one of the newborns to Planet. She had a rounded face that seemed even more pixielike with her bowlcut hair. She was a Perfect, or at least descended from one. Better immune system, better sense of equilibrium, but nothing really perceptible. There was less stigma in Gaian society than elsewhere, while I'd heard rumors that Zakharov's University were pursuing unethical genetic research to renew the genemod projects. (I really did not expect any better from them.)

Her eyes were dark with tears and stress. And yet, there was still that earnestness in them that drew so many to her like moths to a flame. She was such a positive existence that you couldn't help but to bully her a little. If only then you could pat her head and say "I didn't mean it. It's okay…" when her eyes began to tear up.

"How about a hug?" I asked.

Her mouth turned down, her eyes welled up in tears, and with the cigarette still hanging off the edge of her lips she shoved herself into my arms. I patted her head and made soothing noises.

"I-it's not fair!" she wailed. "Warmongers get everything they want… and we just die."

She lost her brother (the captain of the Dawn Rising) just yesterday. Only reason I survived was that I was knocked out in the initial salvo, and when she had to take command, instead of fighting back she said over the radio that we were surrendering and had everyone rush to the lifeboats.

The Spartans shot the bridge of the Rosinbloom full of holes less than thirty seconds from her last transmission.

"It isn't…" I whispered. I felt my heart choke up in rage. "But that's why we have to be **_better_** than them."

It would have been unreasonable of me not to be hungry for vengeance against the Spartans. However, as I had explained to the crew earlier once we could finally sit and try to deal with our tragedy… it was not unthinkable that the Spartans may simply have not believed our transmissions that we were a neutral Gaian convoy.

For all that Santiago's boys thought us Gaians weak and too pathetic to even pity, they recognized that we were useful when it comes to biotechnology, medical sciences, and terraforming.

I could only come to one conclusion: We were betrayed.

We were just pawns in the political game. Both Spartans and Morgans – they were murderous lunatics, and we were sunk to advance their agendas.

After a while, Jenny pulled out of the hug. "Feeling a bit better?" I asked.

She nodded. She looked behind me, to the surviving crew sleeping in their bedrolls; or at least pretending to sleep as not to disturb our emotional moment. She turned back to me, and said in a barely-perceptible whisper "I'm not sure we're safe here, sir."

I sighed. I wanted to scold her for being too distrustful of our savior, but I couldn't exactly say she was wrong. "Why do you think so?" I asked instead.

"This place… it's a cargo ship, isn't it? But it's too big."

I was quite certain not even Earth ever built anything that floats to this scale. Though I did remember the need to pass through the Panama and Suez Canals still influenced ship design. They widened those canals, but even in the 2050s no ship would be built with the Matilda's beam.

Our savior… the mysterious commander Nemo… was nowhere to be found. Where he slept, who knew? The ship was certainly cavernous enough.

I watched the reflection of the two moons, Pholus and Nessus, upon wine-dark seas. And I said "Does it matter? Where it comes from? Neither the Morgans or the Spartans would help out of the goodness of their hearts, but I have a strong feeling Nemo has little love for either."

"It feels wrong," Jenny replied. "The size of this ship… look at these controls!" There were monitors and buttons – but more tellingly, unpainted blank metal everywhere. No writing anywhere, saying which did what. But there was more. "Haven't you noticed? The edges… the corners of the walls… it's too perfect. There isn't a sign of a seam or welding anywhere. Even the metal… it's much too smooth."

"It's just Synthmetal." I replied evenly. "It's nothing special."

"I don't think even the Morganites could produce this much Synthmetal in year!"

I scratched at the edge of my mustache with my thumb. "… speculating where this ship came from is an exercise in futility. At least, can we not be relieved that we may have gained a powerful ally?"

"For what purpose, captain? After what happened… how can you trust that someone's being charitable?!"

There was a difference between an official stance of pacifism, and thinking that Gaians don't fight. I recalled how Commander Nemo said that if we were to try and overpower him, we might succeed. That probably wasn't a lie. And yet, just as pointless.

"Strange, isn't it? We feel that our lives are under some stranger's hands…" I reminded her of it. "But at the same time, isn't he trusting his own life to our goodwill?"

"If that's so, then why isn't he sleeping here on the bridge?"

The bridge that was arguably the most important and here the most livable part of the ship. Jennefer puckered her lips and frowned. It seemed she was starting to realize how awkward that may be. We wouldn't be able to converse like this, if we had our benefactor potentially looking over our shoulder. The crew wouldn't be able to relax from their ordeal.

"How can you trust he's not spying on us right now?"

"Really now, Jen? A voyeur now?" I gave her a wry grin. "What has he done to make you think so badly of him?"

She blushed in embarrassment. We knew what Nemo looked outside of his helmet. He was still fairly young, with curly brown hair and gray eyes. His suit was, well… just this bit short of skin-tight.

She clenched her fists. Commander Nemo's pleasingly symmetrical face, his self-assured manner, his easy grin, and the cold intelligence behind his eyes, all of these added up to an unpleasant picture.

He was a genetically-modified human. A "Perfect".

Idly I was reminded, it is one of the great unsolved mysteries of our time... that we never really figured out just who or what faction sabotaged the Unity and murdered Captain Garland.

* * *

Commander Nemo's payment for being a Good Samaritan was to be thrown forcefully against a console and a gun held to the back of his head. This happened... this is our fault. Yet... no one moved to help. Was I that much of a coward in the end? I looked at my crew, and we all shared shame and impotent anger. This was wrong. And yet, once more, I had no power to change the injustice before me.

He was still grinning. Blood dripped down his nostrils, but he only seemed all the more terribly amused.

He gave out a yelp of pain as the MSF officer bent his arm back to slap cuffs on them.

"Say, offisah. Are you a fan of the classics?" Nemo asked. The MSF goon's only reply was to grab the commander's hair at the back of his head, then to slam his face into the console again. The console screen cracked.

"My nemsh Nemo. You are? What's yer rank anyway? Sarge? Pay's good?"

Wham. The back of a metal-plated fist rammed into Nemo's cheek.

"Shut up." The MSF officer pulled Nemo's other hand back and cuffed his wrists together.

Commander Nemo turned his head and spat out a glob of blood and plehgm. "Wh- one must be kerful of the eheg-… haack, ptui – rippling effects of one's decisions in life. Something so easy, not worth thinking about, may mean so many regrets down the line. So we must be prepared to... be responsible... for lives other than our own."

"Morgans! Enough! We surrender!" I said to keep Nemo from suicide via terminal inability to keep his stupid gob shut.  
_  
"Really_, what do you think are the chances..."

"Shut it, or I'll shoot." was the response. I sucked in my breath and glanced aside. Jennefer already had her eyes shut.

"… that someone named **Nemo** is doing _without a submarine_?"

The Morgan Security Force officer paused. There was the merest tilt of the head to hint that he was receiving a radio message. After a few more moments, he held up his palm as a hand signal to his men to wait. Their fingers moved out of the trigger rings.

Commander Nemo was laughing. It was the laughter of a madman and a bully, and yet I couldn't help but to twitch a smile in turn.

"Or _eight_." Nemo whispered savagely through blood-soaked teeth.

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Planet Ecology**"

\- n received:

_In the past 30 years, we have used our telescopes to gather a few terabytes of information about the target world. On this basis we glibly call Chiron "earthlike." I want you to consider for a moment what that means. Chiron has gravity not too much higher than we find comfortable, an atmosphere containing water and free oxygen, a surface climate that we can tolerate. That's all. Billions of years of separate evolution have inevitably made Chiron a greater challenge than we can imagine. Even a familiar will be alien._  
\- Captain John Garland, initial address to the Unity crew, 2058.

Though officially named Chiron, with the moons Nessus and Pholus, most people refer to their home merely as Planet. Its geochemistry contains relatively little carbon and oxygen, but plenty of nitrogen and nitrogen compounds, which forces native plant life to minimize the use of carbon compounds. Planet's atmosphere was anoxic, poisonous to all earth animals, though its nitrogen-rich soils are a heaven for plant life. Native plants also photosynthesize, but fix energy in the form of organic nitrogen compounds.

As such, much of Planet's native plants are inedible, or even poisonous to human beings, no matter how succulent they may look. Among the exotic fruit trees discovered by explorers is the so-called "grenade fruit", which grows seed pods packed with low-grade explosives. Studying **Centauri Ecology **provided colonies with the tools they needed to begin shaping the world around them and integrate edible Terran plants into the environment where they can thrive.

Though there are many different species of plant life, the dominant form is the crimson, fantastically-shaped **xenofungus** (or **fungus**), which covers vast tracts of the surface. Its near cousin, sea fungus, is equally ubiquitous in Planet's oceans and seas. These fungal structures are not quite plants, not quite animals, and form tangled mats of hard tobules (or tall kelp-like stalks, in the case of sea fungus) that present significant obstacles to movement.

Like sea coral, fungal growths are central to the symbiotic web of native plant life. While exploring or clearing xenofungus, one might trigger an attack of Planet's most feared life form - the **Mind Worm**.


	5. Extraction 03

**Ch1 Extraction [3] – Nemo**

* * *

Actually, I had _twenty-eight_, but there was no need for them to know that. My seed base was not as productive as it could be, because I ordered very minimal environmental impact, and to reclaim the shipyard once they were done building. Stealth was the main objective here.

The Lurker-class submarine was the most basic submarine unit of the ARM, tried and tested across countless worlds and oceans. It was considered slow and only useful for enemies without anti-submarine equipment – such as Battleships and Carriers. It was slightly more expensive, resource-wise, than a Crusader-class Destroyer; which had the benefit of a twin plasma battery and depth charges for dealing with submersibles.

But Lurkers had their uses. Though slow, they could dive very quickly. Their internal nanolathes could flash-forge torpedoes relatively quickly and had limitless endurance underwater. Careful management allowed them to sneak past sonar stations and destroy enemy shipyards. Lurkers were surprisingly effective in shallow waters, allowing them to operate around inlets and hide inside lagoons. Send them out with sonar jamming support subs, and they could crash a sea-based economy before anyone realizes something is happening.

Most importantly, though considered slow, they were slightly faster than the Hulk-class Transports. And the Hulk Transports at maximum speed could travel three times faster than Foils!

Eight of the escorting submarines breached the surface, showing off the broad protruding planes from their bow that gave them a faintly scorpion-like appearance. They spun in place, impossibly agile for their size. They began to circle the Matilda, silent and menacing, making sure that the Morgan Gatling Foils had no avenue of escape.

I felt the muzzle of a gun pressing against the back of my head. "Call them off."

"Are you ready to sell your life, officer?" I asked. "If you're thinking of using me as a hostage, it won't work. If you kill me, everybody dies." I turned towards the Gaians. "Sorry."

Most of them just shrugged in response.

"But more than that… you can see my submarines out there, right? Forget the torpedoes for a moment. They have communication systems. And what they can do is receive everything _I'm recording right now._"

Yeah. Sorry. Turns out I'm a voyeur after all. There's a lot you can learn about people from unguarde

"Say hello to the birdie!" I wiggled my arms up so that I could wave with one hand towards a blank wall.

"You're bluffing…" the MSF officer spat.

"You're bluffing." the radio repeated his words.

"Yyeeeeah. Two foils. Eight subs. Do the math. Even if you're willing to die for your paycheck, _the truth will out_. Everything that's already happened here? Backed up into eight different black boxes. There's no covering this up. Both the Spartans and Gaians will receive the recording, and they'll be able to verify it by fishing out our corpses.

Can you say diplomatic shitstorm? Can ya? Can ya?!"

For the Spartans had borders against the Gaians to the north and the Morgans to the east. It would be very bad if suddenly the Gaians were suddenly allies with the Spartans, since just because you're a pacifist that doesn't mean you can't supply large amounts of foodstuff to those who are more willing to fight. This is logistics. The less the Spartans needed to support by themselves, the more of their population they could throw into the war.

I rocked my head back to push his gun away. I half expected him to fire by reflex.

However, by the time I turned around the MSF troopers had lowered their guns. The MSF officer that a few moments ago had been so eager to break my face had stepped back several paces. "If you cooperate, you will not be harmed." he said in a much more neutral tone.

"Yeah, I'm done with you." I spoke with with sneer. Or half of one, anyway, my busted lips were beginning to swell up. "I want to speak to your commanding officer."

I pulled my arms apart, breaking the cuffs with ease. That startled them, but again I ignored any danger they represented to start operating the communications console instead.

"Morgan Foils, this is the ARM Free Ship Matilda, are you receiving? Who's in command?"

After a while, the radio crackled with "… this is MSF Lieutenant Commander Perkovic of the MSF Oranje. Matilda, you are advised to cease this provocation or face the consequences."

"How about: Words adding up to. _Fuck You. I'm Closing The Straits of Prometheus_."

Yeah, say goodbye to that valuable, valuable foreign trade from the Gaians, the University _and_ the Peacekeepers, J.P. Morgan. Everybody else below the ladder is going to face the axe.

"In case you think I'm bluffing…? Snake one! Snake two!"

Two Lurker-class submarines ARM torpedoes were wakeless, of course, but at traveling high speed near the surface it's enough to throw up a white dagger upon the waves. One of the Gatling Foils panicked and tried to pull away. The other, presumably the one with Lt. Com. Perkovic in it, stayed flush to the Matilda's side.

The first of the two torpedoes detonated early, lest it blow up the Morgan Foil. The ocean erupted into a white pillar. The shockwave from the explosion threw back the Foil trying to flee, slamming it against the Matilda's side with a teeth-jarring clang.

ARM torpedoes were tipped with antimatter.

The other torpedo made a full lazy circle around the Matilda, before detonating precisely in line two hundred meters away from the MSF Oranje and the Matilda. The much smaller ship bobbed up and down and scraped against the Hulk's hull.

"Have I made my point clear,_ Lieutenant?_"

I glanced behind me to see the Gaians were staring at my back in shock. Nobody on Chiron had the wherewithal to build any submarines just yet. A stupidly huge barge such as the Matilda, that was within the boundaries of probability. But submarines…? Now that required established infrastructure and a vast reserve of manpower. Scientists, engineers, and trained crew don't just appear out of nowhere.

"You have. What are your demands, sir?"

I sniffed. Being suddenly so respectful isn't going to make me forget you're all worthless sons of bitches. Still, I did not want to start indiscriminately murdering innocent civilians for the sins of their politicians. "Stay where you are until further notice. Turn on your engines and die. Shoot at me and I'll laugh. The Matilda is far, far too big to sink with your tiny little Gatling Lasers.

Behave. We have… things… to discuss with your Morgan masters."

I switched off the radio and huffed. As I turned around, I happened to catch Captain Nobel's suddenly much more calculating gaze. I stood up straight, jutting my chin out slightly. Then I turned aside to bare my teeth again at the MSF officer that assaulted me.

"Hey. Captain. Would it be... really petty of me... to punch back this asshole?"

"Yes." was Nobel's response. Then, a second later "Do it anyway."

I whipped my right fist into a classic straight punch into the MSF officer's faceplate, right over where his mouth would be. The intimidating matte black mask, made out of tough ballistic-proofed plastic, cracked and splintered inwards. He toppled back, unconscious before he hit the deck.

"Get off my ship."

* * *

I sat cross-legged on the deck while Jennefer Marsh daubed antiseptic at my puffed lips and purpling cheeks.

"That was very brave of you, sir. Thank you." she whispered. "You saved our lives again."

"Was it really necessary for you to let yourself get beaten up like that?" Captain Nobel put in. "Are you some sort of masochist?"

"That is not my fetish!" I replied quickly.

Perhaps a bit too quickly.

Jenny's medical ministrations remained careful and gentle as ever. Wait. What's with that pitying look?

"It's not!" I insisted. I puffed my cheeks mulishy and winced at how it opened the wounds. Jennefer clucked and put her left hand around my jaw to keep it closed as she wiped away the fresh blood. "Ish not."

"I'm not really sure I believe that, Nemo."

"Watsh with you, old man? I thought we had a good thing going. You're just full of piss and vinegar today, ain't ya?"

"That was before I realized you were a kid with more mouth than brains. I know showboating when I see it."

"What, you're not at all bothered by how I have submarines?" From him I looked to the other Gaians. They were much more guarded with me now, but seems like there's a grudging protectiveness too. I guess there's a meaning in 'bleeding together' to encourage camaraderie.

"An idiot with attack submarines is still an idiot."

"Fair enough."

Despite what happened on the bridge, we were still headed towards the nearest Morgan base. Jennefer asked the obvious question, obviously dreading the answer. "What do you intend to do now?"

"Not much. I'm still serious about joining you Gaians. More than ever, really, if it means being able to screw with the Morgans and the Spartans." That brought some grinning from the crew.

"The Embassy will be happy to receive you, of course." Said Captain Nobel. "You said this ship… that it's a gift. And I do know the classics. You wouldn't happen to be Greek, would you?"

"The Matilda's not a wooden horse any more than you make dynamite in your spare time, Captain Nobel."

He chuckled. "That's fine. But I doubt that the Morgans will be so willing to let submarines pass through or dock into their ports."

"Unless they have ASW craft, they're out of luck. Fuck them."

"This ship isn't stolen, isn't it?" Nobel let out a strangled little laugh. "Your people… what do you really want from us? There's no reason to defect, you know. A diplomat can live in Gaia's Landing without any issue."

"I am defecting for… several reasons, some philosophical, others material. The forces with me… well, they're going along to make sure I live to make that dialogue with Morgan, with Deidre, and then later with Zakharov."

Nobel's eyes widened. "Zakharov? What do you want with Zakharov?"

"His research, of course. I have… questions… that need to be answered. I have avenues of research that I want to see realized." I tilted my head slightly. "But I don't think I'd be able to work with Zakharov without a buffer. His type pisses me off too much. I do know that the Planet's best biologists and xenobiotic experts are with the Gaians."

Jennefer silently put her medical tools away and bowed slightly as she left.

"Is… is it human genetic engineering that interests you?" Nobel asked.

"No." I shrugged. Honestly, after everything, I couldn't care any less about the human genome and how to modify it. ARM spliced anything to everything, as long as it might prove any advantage against CORE. But if there's one thing we knew, it was that the galaxy belonged to mankind simply because it was devoid of any other intelligent life to contest our claims.

I continued "Chiron is full of ancient alien artifacts. It's the aliens that interests me. I can't research their technology alone, and I don't want to have to deal with the University's brand of prima donna academics."

Jennefer turned on her heel, returned, and leaned far too close with a strangely hungry on her face. "Wait, really? You want to look for alien artifacts?"

"Um. Yes?"

She clapped my shoulders as we sat knee-to-knee. "Welcome aboard! We're happy to have you working with us, brother!"

I could only nod as she exuberantly clapped my shoulders several times. Whap. Whap. Welcome. She bowed again, then left. She and a group of other Gaians went into a huddle and began to talk excitedly if unintelligibly.

"… but… it's my ship?" I mumbled in a lost voice. Nobel just coughed into his fist and looked away.

####

* * *

MEMSTOR keyword "**Construction Ship**":

\- retrieved:

A Construction Ship, like the ARM Commander possesses a nanolathe - in fact, the most powerful nanolathe among the T1 Builder Units. Because its hull is larger than Construction Kbots and Vehicles, it can store a larger amount of Metal nanobots in its tanks. It can only build sea-based structures and floating defense platforms, except for a **Light Laser Tower **on shorelines.

Its nanolathe has a much narrower cone designed to reduce nanobot dispersion at great depths. It can build all the essential structures needed for a sea-based economy, such as **Tidal Generators**, **Floating** **Solar Collectors**, **Underwater Metal Extractors**,** Metal **and** Energy Storage**, and **Floating Metal Makers**.

It has a top speed of 90 km/h. It is completely defenseless, but it can reclaim wrecks and debris with its nanolathe to turn them back into Metal.

MEMSTOR keyword "**Advanced Construction Sub**":

\- n retrieved:

The Advanced Construction Sub has all the benefits of a deep pressure hull for stealth and the ability to build in areas the enemy usually do not patrol. They cannot build basic economy structures like the Construction Ship, but have the plans for more advanced critical structures like the **Underwater Fusion Plant **and the** Underwater Metal Maker**. These could be built in deep trenches very far away from the combat zone.

Many aquatic worlds were ignored early on in the war, secretly funneling the resources needed to continue the conflict. However, this strategic advantage was later nullified by newer Seaplane platforms with advanced Sonar and air-dropped Torpedos that could detect and destroy deep-water assets.

The plans for the **Underwater Metal Maker** and **Underwater Moho Metal Extractors** were lost by both sides in one of the great digital wars that happened concurrent to the physical battles between the ARM and CORE. Advanced Construction Subs thereafter had very limited blueprints compared to their Advanced Construction K-Bot, Vehicle, and Aircraft contemporaries, but retained the second strongest nanolathe next to the ARM Commander.

With the plans for both the basic **Shipyard** and **Seaplane Factories**, Construction Subs were relegated to harassment duty.


	6. Extraction 04

**Extraction [4] - Nemo**

* * *

A Morganite colony was… _exactly_ like Las Vegas.

Since the ARM Commander had very little remaining memory of civilian life, this was the best fit. It was a den of vice, shining with false glories, delusions masquerading as hope, and love for sale. It was a literal temple to conspicuous consumption capped with burnished gold on the outside, ringed by smaller arcology buildings linked by raised light rails. For some reason Morgan Bases had a neo-classical aesthetic, with decorative pillars lining their outside walls. Yet it was not the Parthenon that the image evoked, but Wall Street.

It was actually fairly impressive. Morgans did not skimp on infrastructure, because they knew that maintenance was the cost of ownership. Delays and interruptions in transport and public utilities meant lost revenue and discontent. Morgan citizens could be justifiably proud in that they lived a life of comfort and ease unmatched by any others on Planet. If they had to despoil the lands around them, what did that matter?

They didn't need windows to the outside. Everything they ever wanted was theirs for the taking in a self-contained manufactured Xanadu.

As long as you had the money, of course.

I rubbed at my still swollen lips. I had a problem with a really easy solution. I could crush their economy in _seconds_, it was just a matter of how many innocent people I would be willing to see suffer and die in the chaos.

For this reason, not even the ARM Commander was willing to sacrifice civilians to satisfy any revenge fantasy. I literally had _enough_ of warfare. I fought harder and further than anyone living, and it was time to stop. The "me" that did not fight that war would probably have a lot more in common with the Morgans than he'd dare to admit. The ARM Commander was in the process of rediscovering the word 'morals' in respect to anything that isn't 'kill CORE by any means'.

* * *

The Matilda couldn't enter the ports of Morgan Robotics because it was simply too big for any of its piers. We had to lower ourselves into one of the Morgan Foils. The Gaians were understandably worried about this, but I reminded everyone that if I was willing to risk my life aboard my ship, nothing changed in doing so in someone else's ship.

Also, it would be doubly suspicious to die at the very footstep of a Morgan Base, as if we tried to seize control of these Foils when all we needed was a ferry into the thing.

We arrived at night. Entering from the bleak wilderness of planet, the blinding glows of the Morgan City was like being welcomed into a world of infinite possibilities. It was like Old Earth in its zenith, when the resources were draining yet still plentiful, and globalization was in full swing.

Awaiting us by the landings were more armed troops, and was that an APC at the back? A man in a business suit stood in front of the group. He was thickly built and wearing sunglasses. Instead of being bald to complete the stereotype of a government spook, he instead wore his hair in a ponytail.

The Morgan Gatling Foil moored and extended its ramp. I was first off the ship, and we spoke simultaneously -

"Gentlemen-!"

"Commander Nemo, I presume?"

"You presume correctly."

"Welcome to Morgan Transport, Commander. I am District Chief Joachim Diaz. For your own protection, would you kindly-

I spread out my arms and grinned. "Gentlemen, I would just like you to know –"

"… follow us to –"

There was a massive virtual billboard behind them that was advertising shampoo or something. It was abruptly replaced by my face and my shit-eating grin. "… that I **_am still recording!_**"

Diaz' eyes bulged. That came out from all speakers within the area. Even those inside cabs and hand radios. In the future they would call this sort of thing manifold resonance manipulation. For ARM, it was just part of our mastery over the electromagnetic spectrum and anything that can carry a current.

"So, where are we going? I would love to see the inside of a Morgan jail." I said, still with my arms wide in the most obvious 'come at me bro' posture ever. "Would you please care to introduce me to Morgan interrogation techniques?"

Diaz' left cheek twitched. "There's no need for that, sir. We're here to help. You and… your companions… are our honored guests. We have reserved the finest accommodations for your party, and prepared a secure line for your call to the Gaian Embassy at your earliest possible convenience."

I nodded and slowly lowered my hands as I walked off the ramp. The screen behind them still showed an overhead view of the scene. 'Where is that god-damn camera?!' the security forces had to be panicking. All info screens all over the city were showing the same thing.

"I'm reaching into my pocket now. I am not pulling out a weapon. Do you understand?" I spoke up just in case. District Chief Diaz glanced aside to make sure that none of the troops was actually stupid enough to be in the position to fire. He looked relieved anyway as I took out what looked like a deck of cards.

I fanned out the cards. They were fairly thick metal plates; color-coded silver, blue, green, and purple. "Thank you for waiving docking fees, Chief Diaz. I do have items to declare. I presume _platinum_, _iridium, beryllium_, and _germanium_ still have some market value?"

Chief Diaz looked like he was sucking lemons. There was no way to hide now that there's some Gaian-aligned obscenely rich nutcase on base. Anything that happened to me now was as if Morgan Authority was out to seize private wealth.

"Such… have value, yes. Do you wish to deposit them into secure facilities in Morgan Bank to participate in the metals market? We may need to levy certain handling fees-" Diaz had to say that line, because waiving fees in my case might cause someone else to ask why they still had to pay theirs; and 'go get a submarine fleet' was not an acceptable answer. "... below a kilogram of material."

I raised my left eyebrow. Was he calling me out? Even if Planet was metal-poor of the 'rare-earths', to the point that the 'planetpearls' found inside Mind Worm husks were very valuable as a source of concentrated heavy metals, a deck of cards could only buy so much. Sure, it's great treasure, but my name was Nemo – _not_ the Comte de Monte Cristo.

Within each ARM Commander unit was a small Metal Maker. Energy-to-Matter, driven by its M/AM reactor, in unlimited quantity. Nanolathes could build _anything_ as long as it had the blueprints, and cubes of pure elements were the simplest plans there could be.

"Four metric tons. Each."

"… sunuvabitch!" someone muttered from behind me.

Yes, Morgans. _I can play your game_. And by extension, the Gaians under my protection were just as untouchable. The customer was always right. We were in the very heart of the enemy, and it was the safest place we could be.

For mine at last was the _technology of peace_.

* * *

"Kiiill meee…"

"You know, you make it very difficult to think of you as either a madman or a genius. I have to admit, that was a master-stroke. If heads could explode as you shattered their preconceptions, they would still be cleaning up right now."

By this point, I'd been introduced to all sixteen of the Gaian survivors. From three ships, crew of twenty-five each, their poor survival rate was due to spalling and lack of damage controls. Their synthmetal hulls were designed against attacks by native life, not other humans. They all fit easily into one penthouse suite.

We had the top two floors of the hotel Morgan-Ritz-Carlton. We had the finest everything. And since we had unlimited lines of credit, after days of eating nothing but MREs we pigged out on everything we could order from room service. Or rather, I decided to order anything and everything and the crew had to eat the rest or else it would all just go to waste.

"Oh dread Dormammu, this was a mistake." I groaned. "My life is a litany of anguish! Someone please … I'm begging you. Let me die."

"Then you do something like this…" Nobel sighed. "Even idiot savants at least have the decency of being _consistent_."

"Ooooh. Ooooh. God why. Immune to every toxin that exists and can't even take overeating and carbonated drinks! Ngaah!" I moaned while I rolled from side to side. My body was all of four days old and what the fuck was I thinking that it was a miracle that they still had jalapeno peppers. I slathered 'liquid joy' onto so much oily and cruchy stuff and guzzled everything that fizzed. My body was biologically in its twenties, it was mandatory.

The memories of ARM Commander was all 'eh why not' and now it was 'ooh that's why not'. (Never leave the cockpit of the Command Unit again, the gestalt advised. Nutrient feeds are supremely efficient. They are the quenchiest.)

"Are you a "Perfect", by any chance?" Captain Nobel asked, mercilessly taking advantage of my agonizing lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Some of the crew gasped at the vulgarity of that question.

"If I was actually perfect, do you think I'd be stuck like this?" I had three people sitting on me to stop me from staggering around and trying to bash my face into table edges because _of course _any other pain to distract me from the fires burning in my inflamed intestines could only be a good thing. "My life is torment! There is no perfection, there is only pain! All shall know the wrath of PAAIN!"

"A P-perfect means someone who has modified genes." Jennefer added.

"Gggh. My enhancements are more surgical than genetic and heeey now there's an idea… ! You!" I pointed to a random Gaian crewman. "Order a scalpel from room service. Since this pain is obviously because of a malfunctioning digestive system, the better to just cut it out entirely. I _think_ I can survive long enough to get a replacement. This! I command!"

"No." said Nobel, without even looking up from his cup of tea.

I toppled over and rubbed my face into the carpet. "Nhuuungh. Whatever innate respect I have for you due to your uncanny resemblance to Freddie Mercury will not save you. I will _destroy you_, old man."

He sighed again.

"Jen, take him to the baths and help him empty the contents of his stomach, would you? It's best if a pretty girl is the one doing this sort of thing…"

"This sort of thing?" she asked.

"Stick your fingers down his throat until he upchucks."

"I'll do it!" one of the female crew swiftly raised her hand. She had fizzy red hair tried up into two hanging pigtails and more aquiline features compared to Jennefer. She had an eager and very naughty smirk. She was Adelaide Sevon, late of the GSV Sunmaid. "Sir, I'd be happy to help you explore the gag reflex."

The ARM Commander could afford no distractions, and 'chemically castrated' was an applicable term. Among others cut out were sympathy, hesitation at causing collateral damage, forgiveness, and mercy. Only recently have certain concepts become part of my vocabulary again. I could only notice that her manicured red fingernails were filed into attractive yet sharp points.

Suddenly I was much less receptive to entertaining her reasons for her excitement.

"No." Nobel said with a sigh. "Jen… just go."

* * *

The bathroom of the suite could be considered a throne room in any lesser place. I was feeling light-headed, my skin cold as ice, and as I walked it felt like I was floating. Jennefer slowly guided me to the gold-plated toilet with a rim lined with warm synthetic fox fur.

I knelt before it like a man facing the guillotine. Jennefer carefully washed her hands. A deep and awkward silence fell as we readied for the procedure

Even through the haze of unfamiliar pain, I mustered the force of will to say – "I would just like you to know… that I derive no sexual pleasure from this."

"Umm…"

"Really, just making it clear. Just so there are no misunderstandings. You're trying to help and I respect that."

Jennefer nodded. "Thank you, sir." She took a deep breath and raised her middle and index fingers. "Here we go, then. Please turn your head this way."

It's fine. It was worth it to be free of the blinding pain that filled my existence.

"P-please don't lick it."

"I canf helf if… whaf elf am I suffosd to do wif ma- blooorgh." Oh hell. All over her hand. "I'm sowwy – blooorgh!"

Jenny shrieked and tried to pull her fingers out my mouth. Unfortunately she lost her balance on the slicky bathroom floor and had to steady herself by placing her other hand on my shoulder. Which shifted my posture towards her instead.

"Blaaargh!"

Nooo!

"Blaaargh. Hork. Boooork."

I couldn't control it at all.

After some more traumatic minutes, the projectile vomiting eased off.

I slumped with my back to the wall, my jaw hanging open while a rattling dying breath gargled out my throat. "Soh sohrry…"

"I-it's okay. I don't mind." The horror and disgust slowly faded from Jenny's eyes. "This is normal. It… happens to everybody, I think? There's no need to be embarrassed."

Don't pat me on the head! There were tears in my eyes because of… the pain. Yeah, that's it. That was a perfectly rational explanation.

Jennefer looked at herself and wrinkled her nose. "We should have expected this…" she sighed. Without any inhibition, in full field medic mode, she took off her shirt leaving her only in her bra. Then her vomit-coated shorts too.

A very interesting development! Normally. But I was still dry-heaving.

Hork. Hork. I was ruining everything with every second. I faced away from her and clung to the toilet bowl's rim. What's this dignity you speak of? You can't eat it! Hoooork.

Jenny rubbed my back, making small circles with her palms. "It's all right. You're okay. Ssh. Don't cry."

Ahaaahaaa… why.

* * *

We returned to the living room of the penthouse suite, squeaky clean and dressed only in fluffy bathrobes. Whistles and catcalls greeted us.

"You guys suck and I hate you all." I said dully.

"It's only just now that I remembered we could have ordered room service to bring a stomach pump." Captain Nobel noted.

"Die…" I hissed. "You must - (hic)."

Oh.

"Hic."

Oh shit.

* * *

"Oh god (hic) it's like being punched in the thorax every two seconds!" I moaned. Never before had I so cursed the existence of boosted musculature. It was even worse on an empty stomach!

"You're going to have to sleep with him tonight." Captain Nobel told Jennefer.

"Sir!" she gasped. "That's… very improper!"

Nobel coughed into his fist again. "Excuse me. I meant, someone has to stay by his side tonight. I am posting guards outside his room, but the one inside has to be ready to deal with any potential emergency."

None of the usual tricks worked. "I heard that if you stand on your head, that might force your nerves to settle down!" said someone. And without any further ado, two burly Gaian sailors grabbed me by my ankles and hung me upside-down.

Gaians were just so goddamn _helpful_ if they liked you.

"And it has to be someone I can trust won't accidentally kill him."

"I'll do it!" Adelaide spoke up again, raising her hand.

"Someone I can trust won't intentionally kill him." Captain Nobel continued without missing a beat.

"Oh come on!"

* * *

The ARM Commander found hiccups _very_ illogical.

(Hic)

Ngggh.

(Hic)

Ngggh.

(Hic.)

"Sir, please don't try to silently endure it all for my sake. I'm here to help. It hurts me if you won't even allow me to try to ease your suffering."

I sighed. Nobel, that canny bastard, was right. I did need someone right by my side, how else could they tell that I'm doing better? Every hiccup bounced the bed. Someone on a different bed or on the floor would fall asleep without knowing.

"Okay. How about this (hic) then? Sit on top of me."

Surprisingly, Jennefer did so without any hint of embarrassment. Only our clothes and the sheets separated our nether regions. We stared at each other for a long, meaningful moment.

"Now (hic) punch me in the stomach _really_ _hard_. I think that might reset the whole system."

Jenny palmed her face. "Why don't I just get you some sleeping pills?"

"That…!" I recoiled "… is actually a rather good idea."

* * *

Morning saw me one of the richest bastards on Planet, after Morgan Central Reserve finally finishing appraising and processing my deposits. Captain Nobel found me sitting on a plush tiger-skin couch, with a jar of brown sugar between my knees. Hic. I dropped a ladle into the jar, brought up another mouthful of granulated crystals, and began to chew.

Jennefer was at the kitchen, preparing some porridge with plenty of ginger.

"… hold my calls." I whimpered. Hic.

So very illogical.

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Morgan Industries**"

\- n received:

Morgan Industries (**Morganites**) are led by CEO Nwabudike Morgan, whose funding and industries were critical to the construction of the Unity. They prefer "**Wealth**" choices in social engineering. Due to the emphasis on creature comforts by their populace, Morgan bases tend to sprawl and require more spacious Hab Complexes as they grow. Life on a Morgan base is the most similar to that of pre-apocalypse Earth, but there are almost no protections afforded to those who are unemployed.

_Human behavior is economic behavior. The particulars may vary, but competition for limited resources remains a constant. Need as well as greed have followed us to the stars, and the rewards of wealth still await those wise enough to recognize this deep thrumming of our common pulse. _

— Nwabudike Morgan, "The Centauri Monopoly"


	7. Extraction 05

**Extraction [05]**

* * *

After sleeping it off and downing dozens of antacids and aspirin, the constant hiccupping became more annoying than merely painful. All things considered, having eaten _nothing_ for almost four thousand years, it was a surprise that my digestive system worked at all.

Idly I perused the Information Networks of the base while Jacob Nobel sought to make the new day much more productive than the last.

"Our original plan was to go overland towards the next Morgan base facing the straits of Prometheus and charter a ship heading to Gaia's Landing from there. It's clear now that we can't afford to sail home on a Morgan ship or wait months for a Gaian ship to arrive." Captain Nobel said to everyone gathered. "And by afford, I mean the price is our safety."

"My ship and my unlimited credit line are at your disposal, captain." I said.

He smirked. "Don't you mind then if I take fullest advantage of that." He began separating the fifteen surviving crew (sans himself) into teams.

"Dyer, Chen, Morenly, Galbar– you're on food detail. Buy up as much as you can, at least food and water sufficient for about two hundred people. Don't skimp on the luxury items. We may end up having to accompany the Sea Colony Pod back home, and we could all use the variety in our diet."

As a side-effect, buying up so much foodstock would temporarily inflate the price of food in the colony. It was a good reminder to the Morgans that the reason they could focus on more extravagant food items like meats (such as cattle in factory farm blocks) and certain species of seafood (in Gaian-designed aquafarms) was that they imported most of their basic grains and greens. Normally the exchange would go Gaian - Peacekeepers - Morgans, at significant markup, until they began to trade for it directly.

Now the Morgans could no longer be trusted to keep their deals straight.

"Ragman, Vittel, O'Leary – you stay here. You're security detail." A pause. "And you of course, Marsh."

Jennefer Marsh nodded. It was not as easy a job as it first appeared. The paparazzi were all but laying siege to the hotel and were trying all tricks to infiltrate the premises.

"Sevon, Thompson, Alleyne, Dobson – supplies. The Matilda lacks any and all amenities, go buy them."

The Matilda did not have any bathrooms or plumbing whatsoever. During our journey towards Morgan Transport, they crew 'did their business' inside the covered lifeboats, into chemical port-a-pottys; the contents later just tossed off the ship. Bedrolls, clothes, chests, fuel, flares, consumer electronics, books, body armor, flame guns, and like that – we could expect to spend several weeks aboard, might as well make it as comfortable as possible.

"Buford, Wallenstein – you're transport detail. Go find the trucks to haul everything we're buying and then have them wait at the docks until needed."

We had little worry about the Matilda being seized, since she was still floating offshore and even if the Morgans had divers, the ship was completely sealed from top to bottom. All hatches were more than just shut – they were molecularly bonded until I unlocked them. Also, piracy was quite unsubtle – where would they even _take_ the ship?

"Buckley, you're with me. We're going to talk to the administrators of the base and get the word out to our Gaian brethren."

Then Captain Nobel turned to me. As a potential defector, I was nominally under his authority. "Don't torpedo anyone."

"Aye, aye, sir." I saluted. Hic.

* * *

So for a whole day, I stayed cooped up in that penthouse suite. I spent most of that doing research on the Morgans, their economy, and their society. It was better and worse than what I was expecting. Morgan Transport, for example, was the fifth settlement in the twenty-four years since Planetfall. Morgan was aggressive in expansion, the better to seize valuable resources.

Staring at the Chiron map, Morgan territory was centered on the twin islands of Ixion (which contained the supervolcano Mount Planet) and the slightly-smaller island-mount of Nephelen to the west. The pod that established Morgan Industries, their faction capital, landed on the fertile western slopes of Mount Planet. It was very well-situated for growth, with good fertile soil for hybridized plants, extensive mineral reserves, and the slopes to collect energy via solar and wind collectors. It was just that all other locations upon Ixion were mediocre.

Nephelen was a reprise to the conditions around Mount Planet; barren to the east, wet to the west. Morgan placed Morgan Solarflex atop the peak. It was a very inconvenient location for a settlement, but working alongside Morgan Mines slightly south of Morgan Industries, Nwabudnike Morgan set up the three most productive cities on Planet.

It was easy to get into the man's mind because his choices were so deeply influenced by geography. Ixion and Nephelen were connected to the bow-shaped continent of Hera, the one containing the Gaians and Spartans, via a narrow isthmus called the Pheres Arch. Depending on the tides, ships could cross from one side to the other with ease.

A smaller island chain above it (named the Hydra Narrows) formed the dual-channeled Straits of Prometheus between Cronos and Unity to the north. He put Morgan Robotics at the very northern tip of Ixion where the Pheres Arch connected. Then, Morgan Transport was situated where it started, where he could cut a canal going north and south, directly below the Straits of Prometheus and opening into the Gulf of Phylira.

The continent of Unity to the north was shared by the University and the Peacekeepers, with the University primarily settled around the Uranium Flats to the north while the Peacekeepers made their settlements around the massive planetoid impact site known as Garland Crater. Lal's people were in particular very competitive to Morgan's, with higher growth rates and good availability of minerals and energy sources.

But that just meant they were a bigger potential export market.

University.  
Peacekeepers.  
Morganites.

This roughly vertical column of settlements and territories formed what passes for an international economy on Planet. The world map had Achilles as its center the same way Europe tended to divide the Earth between Easte and West.

I could see from the very incomplete Planet maps that they still had to explore the eastern half of Achilles – where they would run into the Manifold Nexus. Likewise, the Gaians had yet to explore their north, mostly likely because it was a pink fungus-filled hellhole. I knew however that if they persisted, they'd find the ring of monoliths they would call The Ruins.

While the Manifold Nexus was the control center for Progenitor engineering efforts and Planetary intelligence, to the point that whoever possessed it was subject to less reaction from native-life forms, I had a strong feeling that the circle of monoliths several hundred kilometers across had more to do with spacetime shenanigans.

What worried me most was the darkness to the east. I knew that Planet's largest continent was there, and there with very advantageous natural features like the Borehole Cluster and the Monsoon Jungle, would be Yang and Miriam's factions. It was big enough that they might not run into each other for decades. Or they might already be at war with each other on a scale we could not even begin to imagine.

But some things... would never change.

* * *

A whole day in the War was the difference between one Core Commander and a hundred thousand K-Bots. For Morgan high society gossip, it was an even longer span of time.

I'd smashed my way into their circle of power, showed off how I could buy off half of them and sink the rest, and then gave the highest of insults – totally ignoring them afterwards. The chatboards and talk shows were going crazy.

Half were convinced it was all some elaborate hoax or scam. That ship out there was made of aluminum or something.

The other half were absolutely sure it was a ploy by one of the other factions. After all, the Spartans and Morgans were in open war and the Spartans firing on the neutral Gaians was an open-and-shut case. The rescue was far too convenient. Or, rather, not convenient enough. What the hell was I doing with those submarines? If I liked the Gaians so damn much, why didn't I help them with the Spartans?

That was just so suspicious.

"Why didn't you?" Jennefer asked from over my shoulder as I watched the morning news.

"I didn't _have_ submarines at the area until it was well over. It's not like I expected the Spartans to start shooting."

"That's what we figured." Jenny sat down next to me, half an arm's length away on the couch, and stared forward at the talk show on the big-screen TV.

It was a cathode-ray tube TV, a strange blast from the past in this far future society. Even the laptop computer on the table was just a terminal, connected via a wire to the hotel mainframe. The suite has its own 'micro-computer' system, while others were charged per hour for access to the public Net.

Morgan was the most like pre-apocalpyse Earth. Probably late 70s or 80s Earth, and even as the impending corporate dystopia envisioned by creators in that milleu. Due to the demands of survival and expansion on Planet, there was a need for certain levels of technological regression for the sake of ease of production.

It suddenly occurred to me that there I was… sitting around in the middle of the day in a lavishy furnished room, in sleeping robes, my fluffy slippers, with a pretty woman by my side, and trying to resist the urge to troll people on the message boards. And with every second, I grew ever-more wealthy. I was living the dream.

In any other life, I'd have looked forward to spending 40 or so years on the grid, kissing ass and punching the clock day after day, before I'd finally have enough saved up to retire and live a life of ease.

Ease or Adventure? This was the choice that Planet offered.

"May I?" Jennefer asked, holding out her hand. I passed the remote control.

Click. Away from the rubbish pundits and hey – Tom and Jerry! The classic ones from 1940s to 1960s. "This is **amazing**! That they still have these preserved…!"

"Archival data had little mass constraints and were among of the few cultural artifacts that could be – needed to be – assigned to every landing pod. They're all we have left of Old Earth. Psychological relief is also important for survival" Jennefer winced at a gag that had Tom narrowly avoid having his head chopped off. "But I am not sure about all this… violence. I loved it as a child, but seeing it as an adult…"

"Slapstick is universal." I replied. "I remember how it didn't matter even if the viewer can't understand the language… like, remember Charlie Chaplin? You could be British squaddie or a Nazi or some Soviet conscript, but the American buffoon can make you feel a sympathetic hilarity in all his works. And some of the Tom and Jerry cartoons actually were produced _behind_ the Iron Curtain!"

She glanced aside, but said nothing. The next episode was the award-winning "The Cat Concerto." Soon enough she too was howling with laughter as the physical gags, no matter how many times viewed, never failed to prod the funny bone.

Ding. Dong.

Someone was at the door. The smile abruptly disappeared from Jenny's face.

She stood up. "Excuse me."

I turned back to the screen. Suddenly it didn't seem even half as funny anymore. I sighed and slumped down the couch.

"Sir, there are some people from Morgan Central Bank here. Would you like them to bring up the papers and contracts here, or would you prefer to sign them later at their main office?"

Oh. The Bank! I forgot that I called them up to send someone who can set up contracts and form businesses. I grinned. Captain Nobel had his plan, and was most concerned with getting his people safely home. That was to be respected. My plans involving the Morgan faction were more for the long term.

* * *

This war between the Morgans and the Spartans started because the Spartans tried to extort the Morgans, and the Morgans said "Haha. No." The Spartans responded by claiming the entirety of the Sea of Nessus and performing shore bombardments. It's not piracy if you're at war, right?

A lot of valuable trade goes through Morgan Transport and the Gulf of Phylira. The Morgans wanted to close the gap, but putting a Sea Colony there would invite attack. Spartan Marines were nail-eating tough.

If the Gaians succeeded in plonking down a base, they could buy it out later.

If the Spartans shoot the Gaians, the Gaians are drawn into the conflict and the Peacekeepers have a reason to censure the Spartans. More trade, possible military support, or just a stronger alliance.

If the Gaians are forced back, the Morgans lose nothing. The Gaians would probably just put down the base on the Geothermal Shallows, then the Morganites get easier access to Gaian fish farms.

Win-win, whatever the result. Until I blundered into it.

An armistice, or a Blood Truce in the local parlance, would be signed eventually. I honestly could not care less about helping out any side in any war. Their technological and sociological development of Planet would proceed apace without need for any meddling from me. I could spend my remaining days happily exploring and doing research. I was fairly confident that eventually they would discover FTL akin to the Galactic Gates.

If anything, from what I remembered, their Psi Gate and Bulk Matter Transmitter might even be _better_.

I could go home.

But what was home? Was it Earth? Or was it Empyrean?

There was a closer and more urgent issue...

Be it in seven or seventy years, _if aliens arrive_, then better to be safe than sorry.

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "Colony Pod":

\- n received:

A **Colony Pod** represents the manpower and resources necessary to build a new **base**. Setting up a new base is a lengthy and involved process. Due to the scarcity of heavy metals on Planet, a Colony Pod make take years to build. Once emplaced on a suitable site, the colonist unpack the main pod and scavenge the materials to set up their new colony. A new base is built around a **Thorium Nuclear Reactor **to set up the base's initial infrastructure.

New Bases are rarely built less than 1000 kilometers apart, but smaller mining and agricultural settlements tend to dot the **Territory** claimed between bases, following **Roads** and **Mag-Tubes** built by **Terraformers**. In case of a massed Mind Worm attack, they either shelter deep inside town bunkers or evacuate to the **Perimeter Defense** of the main Colony.

\- search keyword "attack mindworm town bunker"

Due to the nature of psychic attacks exerted by Mind Worms, it is not uncommon to find that bunkers that managed to withstand Mind Worms trying to chew through the bulkheads are filled anyway with citizens that had torn each other apart in sheer terror. For this reason, citizen militia are often organized and supplied with flame guns to fight back against Mind Worm attacks.

\- search keyword "why not sentry guns to defeat mind worms"

Since Mind Worms attack via the mechanism of **Resonance** fields, they can also short out electronics and disrupt targeting data. Mind Worm Boils typically strike in such numbers as to _drown_ tanks.

* * *

A/N:

See Profile for a rough map of the area.


	8. Extraction 06 Interlude

**Extraction [06] Interlude - Alesa deVorcelk**

* * *

_-_ \- _People always underestimate wealth as a form of power. Power_  
_-_ \- _that derives from the barrel of a gun, the closed fist, or poisoned_  
_-_ \- _pen, or the pulpit, all are considered stronger than merely being_  
_-_ \- _wealthy. Violence has the potential to claim wealth, while wealth_  
_-_ \- _alone is not enough to incite a revolution._

_-_ \- _These people believe that wealth is money._

_-_ \- _They are also idiots._

_-_ \- _And that is why, no matter how much they struggle, they fail to_  
_-_ \- _achieve wealth and strain in futility to achieve their goals unless_  
_-_ \- _helped by others with more fiscal acumen._

_-_ \- _Wealth is not money. Money is an exchange unit. Wealth is **access**_  
_**-_ \- _to resources.**_

* * *

I was born to be great. This I do not say out of arrogance, nor to demean others' achievements, but because it is a fact. My parents had spared no expense in tweaking my unborn form for the optimal advantages. I was one of those children called "Perfect."

And nothing was spared to make sure my skills and my knowledge matched up to my genes.

It was not a bitter childhood, though. I went to an elite private school because "it is essential for a lady to learn how to socialize", I learned quickly how to speak eleven languages by the time I was nine years from vacationing in the nations having those native languages. My accent had to be perfect. Science and mathematics – I was never bored with them. Great teachers tended to me.

I knew fifty ways to kill a man by the time I was ten. But I was not raised to be an assassin who could blend into any scene. A lady just has to be prudent and able to protect herself, after all. It gives confidence, like nothing else, to know you have the ability to end lives with your bare hands.

By fifteen I knew how that felt. My mother insisted on it.

Perhaps it should be made clear at this point that my mother was

\- a) Trying to live vicariously through her daughter

\- b) A functional lunatic.

She loved me, and treasured me, and let me know that everything she did was to protect me. Whatever trauma she experienced in her life, she was determined that a piece of her would rise above all that. "Alice… the world is a cruel and ugly place. There are Red Queens who would cut off your head, chop chop, like that. But if people say no, if everybody says no, what power does she really have? What makes her special?"

I sat in my mother's lap, while she rested her chin on my head. An open storybook lay open in front of us. I remember it was a mild sunny day, we were reading in a gazebo.

"What is Wonderland's theme, Alicia?"

"Wonderland was designed to evoke a chess game, mother."

"What was Alice, in the end?"

"Alice was a pawn. But when she reached the end… she was promoted to a Queen?"

I heard the approaching whine of a VTOL craft. The wind whipped at our faces, the storybook flew away as if given wings, and from the black assault craft armed in balaclavas and battle armor approached our gazebo. Their rifles were pointed towards the ground, but they were ready to shoot.

"Lady Oppenheimer. You are under arrest."

My mother carefully picked me up and put me aside. "Don't worry, my precious. I'll be back in while." I wanted to cling to her, and cry. I was frightened by all these strange men. But it would not be proper.

She returned after a week, seemingly none the worse for wear. Her smile was just a little bit more false, her energy just a little bit more sapped than before.

The next time a VTOL arrived, they were there for me. My mother's own handpicked squad, there to teach me how power also pooled in the underside of society. Whatever the situation, I must rise beyond my circumstances.

* * *

_-_ \- _Wealth is the interaction between individuals and the system that_  
_-_ \- _allows them to gain what they want. A person that is physically _  
_-_ \- _powerful can be wealthy, because his first resource is his body. A _  
_-_ \- _person that is mentally gifted can be wealthy, because his first _  
_-_ \- _resource is his mind. A person who is a loyal friend can be wealthy,  
\- - because being trustworthy is his first resource. A person who is  
\- - wealthy with only money is not __ wealthy in ability, if he does not  
__-_ \- _know how to preserve and expand __his reach of influence._

* * *

My father did not know what to do with me at all. I was too mature too early to pamper as his adorable daughter, but at the same time I was too well-behaved to worry about. My mother's control over my life was absolute, she was the goose that laid the golden egg for his business.

I had a younger brother, who would inherit most of the business. Yet, it was obvious he resented my existence. While he would be wealthy and powerful, he just had to wait for it to fall into his hands, I could go anywhere and with my abilities – fit in and do anything. He was no spoiled brat, and if anything what he resented the most was that while I was 'playing around' his time was spent on more important things like learning how to manage the business.

I left that house as soon as I could.

* * *

_-_ \- _Power is the capacity to enact change into the world in the manner in_  
_-_ \- _which you desire._

_-_ \- _Wealth is also a form of power. It is, in fact, the surest form of_  
_-_ \- _power – because if you cannot achieve that change on your own, you_  
_-_ \- _can find others with the qualities you lack, and give them what they_  
_-_ \- _want in order to create that change. And if you cannot buy, you must_  
_-_ \- _make. It is the exchange that powers the engine of progress._

_-_ \- _Thus, a rich man is one who is rich in experiences, and rich in ambition,_  
_-_ \- _and rich in ability. A rich man is not alone, but is surrounded by others_  
_-_ \- _great as he. He is the glue which holds together disparate talents into_  
_-_ \- _a greater whole._

_-_ \- _There are no boundaries to wealth. Is a genius diminished because of_  
_-_ \- _wealth? Do muscles shrivel the moment you earn your first million?_  
_-_ \- _Does a mother suddenly love her newborn child any less just because_  
_-_ \- _there's stocks in the portfolio? Do not dehumanize those who have_  
_-_ \- _wealth, all have the right to seek happiness and fulfillment no matter_  
_-_ \- _what their circumstances._

* * *

Nwabudike Morgan. I was drawn like a moth to his flame. The "Ethics of Greed" was required reading at my college in almost all courses. He was a genius in his own way, and it was as everything he touched turned to gold. He was brilliant, witty, with a way to make you feel like the closest of friends mere seconds after meeting him.

I was on his security detail.

"You have three different Doctorates, Alicia." he said to me. "One in Philosophy, one of _Medicine_, and another in History. Why do you choose instead to risk yourself by getting in the way of a bullet?"

"You know my background, sir. Opportunities for those of my genetic profile are… limited."

"That sounds like an excuse." he replied with some disappointment.

"The Unity is far too important to all humanity to fail, and you are far too important to lose before we launch. Making sure you survive… is a much more productive use of my time than engaging in wealth-building activities."

I was posing as one of his perennial secretaries. And I'll have you know, I was a very good secretary too. It was surprising how much useful intelligence one could gather when trying to work out scheduling conflicts. A little flirting and flattery hurt no one.

The rumors of being just another one of his trophies was completely unsubstantiated, and a fine cover. I did many… unsightly things… for CEO Morgan, everything except go between his legs. All the rumors about his proclivities was just that, rumors. Never had I seen such a wonderful marriage, the deep faith and affection that Morgan and his wife had for each other. He was wealthy in all the ways that mattered.

"Hmm. Is that your limit, then? Do you dislike being wealthy that much?"

"Wealth on this planet is worthless. What is my value here? I want to discover my value out there. Here, my genes define me. There, the acquisition of wealth may truly become a creative process. You said it: Wealth is potential realized." I smiled. "So why not look after you, sir? Why not protect my investment?"

"And if your life is cut short in the carrying out of your duties?"

"I _like_ my job. No one can make me enjoy anything else that I 'should' be doing."

I was there, standing outside the room, as Morgan stayed with his wife in her final moments. Radiation sickness. There was only one he needed by his side, but not even all his wealth and power could save her. Great men and women, I realized, are great because of how they struggle against their imperfections. Greatness is a power of the mind and of the heart, not of the blood.

After that, there was only the Unity. Humanity's last and best hope for something good out of this benighted planet. Morgan was determined to be a part of it, and yet… it was crushing to learn that he was denied passage. How could they think he was not vital to humankind's new destiny? I wondered if it was last jealous insult thrown in by those who much less accomplished in their own dimming lives.

I was given a ticket. Due to my inherent longevity, I was one of the crew that would be periodically awakened to perform maintenance through the 40-year journey. I was embedded into the general staff under Pravin Lal's command.

* * *

_-_ \- _Wealth is the transformation of capital investiture, be it manpower, or_  
_-_ \- _ideas, or material goods, into a form that is much more consumable. To be_  
_-_ \- _truly rich is to astride the world as a colossus, not to trample it beneath_  
_-_ \- _your feet, but to walk towards the sun. There are many who foolishly_  
_-_ \- _believe they are the epitome of wealth, but lacking vision they are simply_  
_-_ \- _as parasites as those who refuse to work. The truly rich man moves the_  
_-_ \- _world, and becomes ever-more-wealthy in his dealings; ever-more with_  
_-_ \- _access to resources, allies, and tools. To be truly rich is to **challenge**_  
_-_ \- _society towards progress._

_-_ \- _The market is not just a place where goods are traded, after all. It is a_  
_-_ \- _place where we prove that human beings have the right to rule the world._  
_-_ \- _The **creation** of wealth is what sets us apart from mere animals. Our brains,_  
_-_ \- _our thumbs, these are but biological advantages. It is the capacity to create_  
_-_ \- _from raw materials and assign **value** that brings us to greatness._

_-_ \- _It is the capacity to solve problems that defines us. To value each other, to_  
_-_ \- _trade our unique skills, with this we all grow stronger. Our economic systems_  
_-_ \- _evolve through competition, and to stifle this is to deny the true nature of_  
_-_ \- _mankind._

* * *

I only returned home once, when I learned that my brother was stonewalling resources needed for the Unity's construction. I had to remind him of his… obligations. As I feared, he was doing it simply because I was affiliated to the project.

Sadly, I had to crush his illusions about power. Wealth alone was a poor shield. Morgan knew that wealth was primarily a tool to acquire other tools, for protection and for reprisal. I never had to use violence in that house.

My mother's eyesight was clouded over back then. She still looked youthful, but I could tell her every movement was already strained. She was having difficulty breathing without an artificial lung. All she asked from me was "You're going on that ship, aren't you, Alice?"

"Yes, mother."

"Good. Good… Find your Wonderland, Alice. Topple the Red Queen where you meet her."

* * *

_-_ \- _Wealth is the language that all human beings can speak, because wealth is_  
_-_ \- _the language that answers a **need**._

_-_ \- _You know the old saying; give a man a fish, and you will feed him for a day._  
_-_ \- _Teach a man to fish, and you will feed him for the rest of his life._

_-_ \- _The pursuit of power is competition, and far too many believe that it is a_  
_-_ \- _zero-sum game. Those who deny wealth believe that by spreading it around,_  
_-_ \- _the destruction of wealth can be minimized. They rob the future to pay the_  
_-_ \- _present, and why **destroy** wealth – resources, talents, ideas! – than **employ** it?_  
_-_ \- _A closed system is not stable, but even more prone to entropic decay. It is the_  
_-_ \- _failure of imagination, it is the failure of willpower, and it is the failure of weak_  
_-_ \- _men who cannot tolerate that others may become greater than they when given_  
_-_ \- _the chance. They seek power in its most naked, and least useful form._

_-_ \- _Wealth is the key opens up the world! When you do not have wealth, your_  
_-_ \- _options are limited. When you only focus on one type of resource or ability, you_  
_-_ \- _can only see goals in the context of your limited means. When you settle for_  
_-_ \- _little, you **have** little. And with that little, you can do little, when others want to_  
_-_ \- _take it away._

* * *

I was thirty-one when the Unity was launched, and still looked barely out of my teens. Once on the ship, it was a trivial measure to change my name, the name I would earn in that new world. "Why this…?" I was asked by the information specialist on my team. "Why something that sounds like 'divorcelle'?"

"I think it's supposed to be pronounced 'devours elk'" his partner put in.

"Dee- vor- shelk" I replied. "And it means precisely what I want it to."

An emergency from a meteorite strike forced the automatic activation of the command crew. It wiped out two whole cryobay sections and damaged the engines. Unless repaired, the Unity would overshoot Alpha Centauri and die in the cold emptiness of interstellar space.

Yet it was not just them that were roused from coldsleep. A hidden self-executing agent also woke up fifty more cryopods and their leader.

Santiago.

Santiago promptly tried to demand a whole Landing Pod – food, supplies, and tools for a thousand people – just for her and her band of fifty insurgents.

I hate Santiago so very much.

Fighting in the confines of the Unity, with shredder guns that could barely penetrate anything or else we might break something important behind the walls, debilitating psych-whips that were useless when we were the ones closely packed - it was hell. In the dim red lights, it was knife work, and it was hard to tell the level of wounds being taken. The only way to be sure was to go in for the kill, every time, and mutineers that Santiago had gathered around her had far less hesitation compared to the engineers that rallied in support of Captain Garland.

I barely survived our encounter. Fist to knife, and she had me beat. The only reason I didn't end up with my throat slit was that the psych-whips could put me down just as effectively in less time, while the Spartans were engaged on a fighting retreat towards the cryopods. What burned me most of all was that she recognized me.

"Morgan's little play soldier…" she sneered as I screamed in pain until I knew nothing more.

I woke up to learn that Morgan was out of his secret cryopod, hidden in the ship through when the Russian government collapsed and Morgan Industries took over that phase of construction. As I expected, he easily slid into place among the command staff without being officially part of the crew. He was a reasonable man amongst reasonable people, and you would be surprised how many groups are naturally driven to act in a way to make that flattering assertion true.

I laughed to learn that Santiago was captured by Deirde's botanical engineers. Command cut off the air to the hydroponics section, making Santiago believe that they would rather consider the hostages lost than allow her to imperil the ship's repairs any further. Zakharov pulsed the reactor, and in that moment of inattention and changed frame of reference, Santiago was thrown across the Greenhouse and knocked unconscious. No one ever expected the little band of gardeners to fight back.

When the command module blew up from another mysterious saboteur's sonic hammer, so went the hope of keeping the Unity Mission together. Incidentally, the ones we now call the faction leaders were in a meeting, discussing the expediency of separating into different Landing Ponds and set off into the planet independently and immediately. That is why they survived, while the rest of the command crew did not.

Lal considered it tantamount to mutiny, but he was the only one that objected. The Unity was beyond anyone's ability to fix. The engines were wrecked, the ship would soon splinter and burn in the atmosphere. This is why all the cryobays had to be forced open, and dazed people hurriedly funneled into the Landing Pods. There was little time to separate between bays and potential colonists by ideology, it would have to rest upon a number of those like-minded pre-selected ahead of time.

Who killed Captain Garland? No one knew. His last message was to his friend, Pravin Lal, and his last act to release the locks that kept the Landing Pods secured to the Unity.

Explosively our Landing Pod disengaged, and I experienced a feeling of relief overpowering to the point of psychotropic bliss. At that moment, our destinies separated from Earth. Our mother and home. This new Planet would be whatever we wished it to become.

* * *

__-_ \- __Greed has become a pejorative – but since when has it been a sin to try and_  
__-_ \- __protect yourself and those you care for? They call it selfishness, when they_  
__-_ \- __seek to make the multitude hungry just to feed the few._

__-_ \- __The truly wealthy man wants others to be wealthy too. The market benefits from_  
__-_ \- __a wider customer base! The miser that does not loose his pockets is wrapped in_  
__-_ \- __poverty. The wealthy who do nothing but waste their potential in frivolous_  
__-_ \- __pleasures, seeking to deny it from others, are prisoners in their own flesh._

__-_ \- __And I say to you, who wonders: How can I be rich, when I am not born to wealthy_  
__-_ \- __parents? That **you** are your own treasure. The world is full of opportunities. You_  
__-_ \- __only need to open your eyes and identify the needs that drive those around you._

__-_ \- __Must you live in humility for petty praise? Must you stay in one place? The self-  
___-_ \- __made_ _wealthy become so because they do not spend anything in frivolity. Nor do  
___-_ \- __they waste their resources lying idle for someone else's consumption. Look at your_  
__-_ \- __days and hours, ticking away never to be regained. How much of it do you waste on_  
__-_ \- __things that will not return your original expenditure of energy? How much do you  
___-_ \- __spend just_ _idling around, unwilling to risk your pride? __Why would you labor only for  
___-_ \- __someone else to reap the rewards? _

__-_ \- __Be greedy for victory. Be greedy for improvement. Do not be trapped by your doubts._  
__-_ \- __Never stop moving. Never stop hoping. Never stop trying to make your vision come_  
__-_ \- __true. Let every minute of your day be **valuable**._

__-_ \- __All things derive from one small decision each time you pause, and one step every_  
__-_ \- __time towards the realization of your desire; to be better off in all ways tomorrow than_  
__-_ \- __you were yesterday._

* * *

Twenty-six years since Planetfall.

I was there when something great, and terrible, and truly alien arrived upon Planet.

* * *

Morgan Bank Fourth Branch  
142 Bluemoon Plaza, First Level  
Morgan Transport

_-_ \- _"… you can see my submarines out there, right? Forget the torpedoes for a moment.  
__-_ \- _They have communication systems. And what they can do is receive **everything **  
__-_ \- _**I'm recording right now**."_

A brash, if babbling voice resonated through the dim meeting room. On the overhead projector, we saw the insides of a ship's bridge – one made of bare, faintly greenish metal. Morgan Security Force in full battle armor were pointing guns at unarmed Gaian sailors, and their sergeant had just pistol-whipped someone who owned the largest waterborne craft that Planet had ever seen.

That should have been enough clue not to go in trying to close the event before it could embarrass the Morgans.

"_Wir sind in arsch_…!" I groaned as I lay my face upon the table. This level of idiocy was painful. They proved why so many equated greed to sheer idiocy, instead of as a perfectly valid motivation for self-improvement. "There is no way to cover this up."

Beside me my partner, Joachim Hasbruck, stared with dry sleepy little eyes at screen. He had the straight-backed lethargy of a man who could kill six people before breakfast and still balance the books by the afternoon. He still looked the very picture of the fat, useless banker. A sumo wrestler or a bear were both rounded forms that were nearly all muscle.

He pulled out the photographs from a file folder and laid them onto the table. But it was his keen analytic mind that made him so valuable for my team.

He said: "On a more positive note, only police brutality is the charge that the Gaians may raise against us. There remains no proof that there was a security leak to warn the Spartans about approaching Gaian colonists."

I laughed. "I pity the Governor trying to convince anyone of that. This is a time when any proof at all would be counter-productive to everyone involved."

"Politics is a dirty business. Ours is logistics." There was a shot of the cargo ship named Matilda as approached the port, only for all to realize it was too big to service. He tapped the photo. "And this – this is much more dangerous than the incompetence of the MSF."

"Correct, Little Jim." I pushed off the table and calmed myself. In privacy with Joachim, I could exercise a little loss of propriety. In all my years living (not counting the 40 years spent in coldsleep) I had seen my share of epic stupidity. None of them was to the level of '_Let's alienate a potential trade partner and poke a possibly nuclear-armed new faction with a pistol-whipping_'.

I pointed to the map of the area, at the place where the Gulf of Phylira opened out to the Sea of Nessus. My manicured nails stabbed into the paper. "It is too… random? Someone named Nemo appearing out of nowhere to save the Gaians. Exactly after the deed is done for a valid casus belli. It is far too convenient. There is no proof either, but a heavy implication that there is a Spartan or _Morgan_ information leak."

"Do the Gaians even _have_ anything approaching an intelligence service?" Joachim huffed.

I clacked my tongue in response. "Or have we been severely underestimating them all this time? Who is the primary actor in this farce? Three roles – Santiago, Deirde, Morgan, now it is as if member of the audience stepped up as a fourth onstage to turn it avant-garde."

Large cargo ships implied the need to transport massive amounts of goods, resources, or units. Submarines implied nasty things about a complete industrial base, but it remained that the only reason to have a dedicated transport ship is to bring things from _one base_ to _another_.

Much of the Planet remained unexplored.

Perhaps, instead of Nemo, he should have named himself Prester John.

"This man essentially is holding our entire society hostage. We cannot afford to eliminate him, because we do not know who he represents. Nor can we pursue any more gains from the Gaians, because we do not know how deeply they have allied themselves with such a force." I said while one by one laying out the other photographs.

Like a crime scene profiler, there was a mystery here, which we sought to solve by getting into the mind of the suspect.

Morgan Bank did the usual things banks were meant to do – take deposits, release loans, process statements of ownership, and facilitate sales. The main difference was that ours was still a survival economy. We had to establish an industrial base and an economy out of whole cloth, and much of the 'lending' that Morgan Central Bank did was to transport filled fuel cells, workers, and prefab structures.

CEO Morgan surely did not have a secret police or secret service. That was for more… autocratic governments.

However, when Colony Governors treat their cities as their own fiefdoms, the great invisible hand of the free market sends its agents. Sometimes to help, sometimes to slap some sense back into those who forget the Ethics of Greed.

Morgan Bank merely solved problems. Facilitators employed by Morgan Bank had a keen discernment for people's needs and wants, and were dedicated to providing them with the means to achieve their goals. Customers then owed us either a generous schedule of loan payments… or someday, which may never come, we might ask from them a small favor.

Joachim scowled. Behind his eyes, he was starting to build up the picture. "This 'Commander Nemo' asked for representatives from Morgan Central Bank. Specifically, from Morgan **_Bank_**, not the government."

"What does he know…?" I murmured. "Nemo" seemed to be a young man with a pleasant yet homogenous face non-indicative of any ancestry. Black wavy hair, strangely sad and watery eyes… like a puppy. Or a psychopath.

Up on the projector, another clip of Nemo's activities showed.

-_ \- "Gentlemen, I would just like you to know –" _He spread his arms wider and  
\- - bared a feral grin_. "that I… **am still recording!**"_

In a tone devoid of all emotion, Joachim said "A secret base. Attack submarines. Letting himself get beaten up to prove a point. Holy. Shit. This _mutterficker _is _**a supervillain**._"

* * *

Penthouse Suite  
Morgan-Ritz-Carlton  
008 Bond Park, Third Level  
Morgan Transport

The two Gaian guards were sailors, men toughened and blasé with death from their constant struggle against Planet and its inimical native life. They were exactly the wrong sort of person to have defending against assassins.

Joachim nervously twiddled his fingers, a gesture that meant 'It's a TRAAAAAP.'

I raised my hand up to flip back my hair. 'Standard Charm and Compromise Ploy Number Seven. Just chill, Little Jim.'

He signed back 'Be careful, Big Alice.'

A mousy little Gaian greeted us. Her eyes were narrowed in a completely ineffectual glare. How cute. I restrained myself from patting her little helmet of a hairstyle, for I had learned my lesson about doing that to skittish Gaians. It would either end in tears and people looking at me as if I had done something much worse, or a savage gnawing.

I bowed slightly and introduced ourselves.

"Morgan Bank representatives Alesa deVorcelk." Dee-vor-selk; the girl had excellent auditory recall. "and Joachim Hasbruck here to see you, Commander!" she shouted into the room, without facing away from us. Prudent.

She stepped back and allowed us to enter the room. Always just a few steps ahead, so that if ever we made any sudden motions she could throw her own body into the way. I glanced aside to Joachim, and by his far too bland expression he understood.

We should forget any and all preconceptions against Gaians. We could no longer afford the ego boost of underestimating them. For all we knew, Deirde was now someone's puppet figurehead. Or the opposite; she picked up an attack dog from somewhere.

Nemo stood in a solid parade rest, facing away from us, and looking out at the cityscape through the closed plate glass windows of the veranda. That was… foolish? He was a perfect sniping target.

Then I remembered, who would dare? If he were wounded now, what would hold back the submarines – and whatever else he may have in store – from retaliating? Would it not be the height of irony that after a false flag operation to advance our interests, banking on the Spartans to do something foolish, the Morgans would then face subjugation from another false flag operation?

I took a deep breath and placed my most sultry, disarming smile. My fashion for this meeting was that of an intelligent and sexually liberated woman. Let us see how he reacts to that. The only thing more cliche than this strategy was how so very effective it is in most cases. I was looking forward to a very… interesting… conversation.

He turned around, and I could see a similar pleasant yet utterly false expression on his face. "Good day to yo-" and promptly, his façade cracked. That was recognition, and not a little amount of fear on his eyes.

And he breathed out "… hellooo, **_Alice_**."

My smile and apparent delight at meeting him only heightened. Never show surprise, I internalized early on. Always respond to the unexpected by doubling down on your current persona.

Internally, I was screaming "_Scheißhaaaauss!_"

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Industrial Base**"

\- n received

The first colonies lacked any kind of factories or heavy industry, so the creation of an Industrial Base became a high priority for any economic growth. This Industrial Base emphasized small-scale manufacturing with some primitive assembly lines and simple currency instruments. Improvements in mining, refinery, and storage systems also allowed the creation of rechargeable power cells that would soon be used in **Industrial Economics** to coordinate industrial activity across the colonies.

MEMSTOR keyword "**Earth**"

\- n retrieved

Synonym: ground, planet, soil, arable land

MEMSTOR keyword "**Earth humanity**"

\- n retrieval error

No such entry exists. Would you like to create one?

* * *

AN: Santiago's characterization here is, sadly, canon. Demanding her own pod is in the official web story "Journey to Centauri". However, in this instance it is _also_ a statement from an unreliable narrator. I'm messing with canon wherever it may prove more interesting. Alpha Centauri, bereft of supplemental material, is all about an emergent story rooted in gameplay.

I also apologize for the bad German. However, neither Alesa nor Joachim are actually culturally German - the use of these words is like Firefly using Chinese for profanity.


	9. Extraction 06 A

**Extraction [07] - Nemo**

* * *

"Please stay away from the windows, sir. It's unsafe."

"Oh, come on, Jen." I tried not to whine. "It's not like I'm going to get shot."

"It's not the risk of a sniper. It's someone with a telephoto lens and photo-editing software, sir."

"That's... a very good point." And yet still I did not close the drapes.

"What's so interesting about that view anyway?" she asked. "It's all so… fake."

Beyond the veranda was a metropolitan landscape. While other colonies sensibly occupied multiple levels in their central arcologies, Morgan cities had blocks, overlapping roads and neighborhoods, buildings connected by catwalks, and raised parks, with cleverly constructed pylons for the walls that evoked a horizon filled with more buildings extending just out of sight.

High vaulted ceilings painted blue would dim at night with the glimmer of artificial stars. When colonies needed to grow, they added new streets, new parks, new districts, branching off the main structure like new wings for a museum. The corners were disguised as overhanging structures and mass transit depots.

It did not quite work. "That's what's so impressive about it. They tried to fake it, but it doesn't quite reach that point, that they have to _pretend _that they're convinced."

I could pretend I was in San Francisco or Disneyland something. That's what every Morgan city looked like. Less Metropolis in need of a Superman or Clark Kent, but Gotham white-washed. It was a glamorous place to live in, because glamour was inherently unreal.

"I don't like it, putting so much effort into a lie. Isn't delusion unhealthy?" she replied, turning away from the sight as if it was personally offensive.

"It's perfect. I'm amazed just how much each faction's bases represent their dominant philosophy. Morgans need to believe in something the same way you do – and this… this glorious shared delusion, is like the concept of a fair free market economy itself. There are pillars, regulations, conventions, _morals_… that allow it to exist, but all must pretend that the Invisible Hand is truly invisible."

It was like the Truman Show on a massive scale. Or a society-wide Live-Action-Roleplay of the heydays of the twenty-first century. It was all so achingly familiar, and yet those few things that betrayed the conventions of the 2100s made it all so disturbingly alien as well.

"Morgan is a Naked King-"

"Ew."

I coughed. "I mean, the Emperor With No Clothes. But don't you see? The people aren't pointing it out not because they're too embarrassed or too fearful to say it, but that he's going around with a placard saying '_It's OK to be Naked_' and '_We were born naked, we might as well die naked. It's not like we'll be using clothes where we're going_.'"

"You sound like… you admire him, sir."

"Oh, I do. Of course, I also admire Deirde, Lal, Miriam, even Yang and Santiago – all of them who came from the Unity are the Faction Leaders not just by force of personality, but because they are the best of humanity. Every faction needs that complete, unshaking faith in the rightness of their purpose, or they will not survive the trials that lie ahead."

"So you say…" she whispered. After a few some time, she asked "Then what about us? Do you think we live under a delusion too?"

"Eh? Well…" I sighed. "Of course you do."

Jennefer met my eyes, then looked away. "W-what delusion do you think we have?"

"Umm. Two things. The first: that you will have a meaningful impact in curtailing environmental damage even as all the other factions continue to wantonly exploit all the lands under their control. The second: that Planet actually **_needs_** protecting."

For a moment, Jennefer looked furious, then she shrank back. "If t-that is what you believe, then _why_ do you want to come with us? Why do you say you're defecting to the Gaians, of all people?"

"Just because it is a delusion now, doesn't mean it can't be **true**. What's the difference between a delusion, a dream, and a _desire_, anyway?" I waved at the vista outside. "The Morgans live in a world within a world, while the Gaians live on something more than just a ball of rock spinning in space."

"… world within world… live on more than just a ball of rock…" Jenny repeated softly. "... I should write this down."

I shrugged. "Eh. Crib whatever you want from whatever I say. I know how tedious it is to write speeches and articles. "

"Speeches and articles? Oh. Yes, of course. Because I'm a _marine biologist_."

I grinned. "Imagine how much of a pain in the ass it would be if you lived at University. Publish or perish, Jen. Publish or perish!"

"Oh my god, don't." she giggled. She swatted me in the arm. Then a look of horror crossed her face. "I'm sorry, sir. That was very inappropriate of me."

"It's fine. You can hit me anytime."

"I… would rather not, thank you."

* * *

"Morgan Bank representatives Alesa deVorcelk and Joachim Hasbruck here to see you, sir." Jenny announced.

I took a deep breath. Despite my words yesterday, all I had about either the Gaians or the Morgans or anyone else on this Planet were nothing but assumptions. Whatever insight I had merely sounded convincing, not born of any factual study. In a word: prejudice.

I was actually a very prejudiced bastard. I breathed out. I could only behave according to my _expectations_ of them, that they would react according to my mental model. This is a monstrously bad idea, but it was not like I had any better solution.

Science was as much about poking random things with a stick as it was about theory. The more I provoke them, the more information I'd receive about their true character.

I had changed to a hotel-provided suit. Although it was not a perfect fit, what mattered most in a suit is how one wears it. The frivolity that let me enjoy this new life was put aside, and behind my eyes I replaced the mindset that fought and burned a million worlds, the one that said: I am literally _too far_ beyond caring for any of your bullshit.

I turned around, emotionally prepared, and promptly lost it. "Good day to yo- hellooo, **_Alice_**."

The man was as dumpy and nondescript as any banker could be. Accompanying him was a lady in a red dress. Her features were strongly Nordic, with short faintly auburn locks in a windswept hairstyle. Her eyes were the bluest I've ever seen, and her lips, her wide deep red lips, twitched up impishly.

My heart went ba-thump.

"Alesa, not Alice." She moved closer and held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Commander Nemo."

I took her hand gently and raised it to my lips. "Charmed, my dear." From her I looked to her companion. "Mister Hasbruck, good day." We shook hands and then I bid them both to have a seat.

Goddamit. What the fuck, fate. Are you fucking with me?

Alesa deVorcelk was a dead ringer for Mila Jovovich as "Alice" in Resident Evil, even down to the red dress and the high black leather pump 'fuck me' boots. I mean, what are the odds? What are the goddamn odds?!

Or… did someone somehow predict I'd recognize this? In retrospect, why was I even so sure there could only be one unicorn in the garden? What the hell.

I felt a tug at the back of my jacket. "Sir, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

I shivered as I was jarred back into sensibility. "Um, yes, sure." I raised a finger. "Excuse me for a moment."

* * *

Jennefer pulled me to the kitchen area, where our heads would be hidden by the hanging cupboards and pantries. "Sir, with all respect, what are you doing?" she hissed out.

I began slapping my cheeks. "Sorry, looks like I drifted off there."

"I saw what you did…" Jenny accused. "That was dumb, sir."

"Um. What in specific? Are you mad that I didn't clear this with your captain first? You know, we're allies… but I'm not under his command. I can do whatever I want with my own money, or talk to whoever I want to talk to. The Morgans aren't _my_ enemy."

Jenny waved aside. "This isn't about that. I was talking about how you were being such a Neanderthal out there, I was surprised you weren't drooling."

"… I did what now?"

"I know she's beautiful, sir. Heck, even I'm affected. But isn't it obvious this is a plot to distract you? You need to keep focused."

Oh, so that's what she meant. "Uh. Okay. I'm insulted, Jen. Do you really think I'm that shallow?" I'm a clone. Oh god I'm a four-thousand-year-old virgin. I'm the most pathetic thing. She's right to worry about me. I staggered against the counter.

"No! Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything of the sort!"

Click. The ARM Commander has no time for this hormone-driven bullshit. "_Of course_ I know. She can't be any more obvious about it. In fact, isn't it too obvious? They have to know that we know that they know this is distracting. Acting like everything's perfectly normal is how they expect us to react. We'd be so focused on pretending that we don't know that they know that we know that -"

"Stop."

"Okay."

Jennefer took a deep breath, puffed out her chest, and declared "Captain Nobel left me strict instructions… remind him that it's always best to keep his fool mouth shut. Whatever he wants to do, _do not let him fuck it up_."

I nodded. "That's… sensible." We already spoke about my own… tricks… to disable listening devices. Only someone born on old Earth could be properly paranoid like that. It did not hurt to have a minder, because while I had the broad strokes of their leaders' goals, I knew next to nothing about their actual history. Their people. Their present and evolving culture.

Jennefer deflated. "Just please try not to make your fetishes so apparent next time, please?"

Wait, what? Is that what this is about? "… Jen, kissing a woman's hand is a perfectly normal greeting." I rubbed at my eyebrows. "Right. Right. I keep forgetting. It's 2126 and you were raised in a communal environment."

Jennefer opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She shook her head. "Sir, the Morgans will keep their deals to the letter, and nothing more. They will offer you _anything_ you may desire. You could live a better life here than anything we may have at Gaia's Landing, and if you take them up on it, we would understand. But they are not worthy of your trust. Whatever they may tempt you with-"

"Check the Datalinks! It's not just a romantic gesture… this was the proper way for gentlemen to greet ladies for centuries! It's a mark of subservience and respect, especially in religious contexts or as mark of fealty and hooboy okay I can see where you may have a problem with that."

Jennefer just stared at me with a very deadpan expression. The facepalm was very heavily implied.

"I already said I don't derive any sexual- ghick!"

Jennefer poked me in the side, just around the kidneys. Hard. I recoiled, bending nearly in half. Ow. I was ticklish there.  
"Oh hell no. What's with this tsundere-like development?"

Yet it was not anger or jealousy I saw in her face. She was on the verge of tears, her cheeks puffed up as she fought to control herself.

"My friends died. My… my brother _died_. That was just two days ago, you know? It's good to be happy to be alive, but I don't want to have fun at all..."

Oh.

Ohh. I've been having fun lounging around steeped in luxury, I lost sight of the reason why we were in this situation in the first place. Shit.

I forgot that no matter how much one might gain, sometimes it can never really replace what was lost. Things, wealth, reputation, power… they can be lost and regained. People… family… once gone are lost forever.

"I'm sorry…"

"You make it too easy to forget. And that… that's not _bad_, you know." Jenny stared down and fidgeted.

There was nothing I could say. I stood there feeling like a heel, unable to offer her any comfort, because I was not half as smart as I pretended to be and oh crap oh crap what do I do? (But this was hardly the ARM Commander's realm of expertise either.)

She reached out and grabbed the sleeves of my jacket. "… it's not that I blame you for anything. Thank you for saving us. Really, thank you so much. Thank you. You've done so much for us, we can't ask for any more. Thank you. I'm so happy. And I'm scared… I'm scared of disappointing you… I'm scared of what you'll do to me if I anger you…"

"I would never-!"

She looked up, and her eyes were wet, and they were aflame all the same. "But I will obey my captain. If you _fuck this up_, I will _slap the shit out of you_."

I grinned. Now that's more like it!

Wait. There was that pitying look again. Whaat. What do you really think about me, Jen?

* * *

"Ahem. All right then. Let's start." Three couches were arranged in a half-circle in the living room of the penthouse. A wide oblong jade-and-gold enameled desk was the center, and the distance between the couches facing each other was far enough to make any sudden fatal lunge out of reach. "Quick introductions again, just so we're all on the same page.

Miss deVorcelk, Mister Hasbruck. Hello. I am, as you know, Nemo – captain de facto of the Hulk-class Transport Ship Matilda, and commander of the Lurker-class submarine squadrons out there. Pleased to meet you. And this is… wait. Jen, would I even be able to call you my secretary? You don't do anything secretarial for me. You're more like a warden." Or a _nanny_.

She sighed. "Commander, please." She made a zipping motion over her mouth.

Oh. Right. Babbling again. The words just keep pouring out whenever I'm nervous. "Uhm. Well. Jennefer Marsh, everybody. Y'all: the Executive Officer late of the Gaian Laser Foil, Dawn Greeter."

Jennefer put her hands together over her chest and bowed deeply.

Rather than sit beside me, Jennefer stood behind the couch at my back and a little off to one side. I knew very little about how social mores have changed in a hundred years, but whatever this implied, Alesa deVorcelk seemed to get it. A very slight smirk graced her features.

It was also the perfect distance to slap me upside the head. I sighed. Memento mori.

I carefully considered the two bankers. The dichotomy between their appearances was so severe, that I couldn't tell which of them acted as a camouflage and distraction for the other. Ideally, of course, they would both be very competent with similar skill levels. The possibility that they might be assassins could not be discounted, even if there was little profit in it.

"First, please tell me about Morgan Bank. You operate as both the Central Bank and a Commercial Bank. That sounds sustainable now, with probably only less than a hundred thousand people on Planet _in total, _but where do you go from here?"

Alesa looked very pleased at my question, like a teacher delighted in a student that shows initiative. "To explain this, first I must say something about how Morgan Industries and its colonies are organized. Ours is a corporate state; that is, each colony is a 'business unit' with a primary focus on one aspect of industry. Every colonist owns a stake in the enterprise, unlike a conventional mode of government in which the average citizen only has a say during election years. These shares increase in value over time and can be freely traded."

"That's horrible." Jennefer gasped. "That's just an oligarchy, concentrating power in the hands of a few!"

"How old are you, dear? You were born here on Planet, were you not?"

"I am. I'm twenty-two" Jenny replied, the 'so there!' heavily implied "but I did my research. A free and democratic government is best for the people."

"And so Morgan Industries is a democracy. It is, in fact, a much more equitable form of democracy than one that relies on mob consensus. Citizens have a direct say in the affairs of their company, in board meetings, instead of having to elect representatives who have to balance other power interests."

"And yet individuals may own thousands of shares more than others, isn't that right?" I asked.

"Of course. This is also fair. Wealth is the universe's way of rewarding those who are clever and efficient. Those who live in colonies like this one have a vested interest in performing greater than its contemporaries – and when directors own greater shares, they are also much more driven to empower improvements in efficiency and happiness for all those who live in the colony, because _all_ are participants in wealth-generation. Those who own shares in more than one colony have it in their interest to assist the growth of all the 'business units' in their portfolio.

In the old, disorganized model of democracy followed on failed Earth, each governing district competed against each other for limited scraps from the national government. It is competition, but an _unhealthy_ sort of competition. It emphasizes the minimum of effort necessary, encourages resource drain and underachievement, instead of giving citizens clear incentive to be responsible for their own affairs."

"This is a fine-sounding _theory_, but how do you know it will work?"

"It _has_ been twenty-six years, Commander, and difficulties in adopting this socio-economic system has so far been minimal. It is also not contrary to other democratic forms of government - you see that ours is a very free society, so I predict that in time it will evolve and through intense internal natural selection it shall assume as its defining traits only those measures that assist in stability and improved quality of life for its adherents."

"That really doesn't sound like it will work…" Jennefer mumbled.

"As opposed to the cottage-industry based communes of the Gaians? You _know_ you get the bulk of your finished goods from us. We can make them affordable because our industrial processes are just that much more efficient."

"And wasteful! And destructive! And horrid!"

"And by our efforts we are bankrolling your entire faction. Where do you think Lal's faction gets the Energy Credits to buy your agricultural shipments? From trade with us, for their cultural and media products, and radioactives and advanced electronics from _their_ trade from the University. The economy is as much a living system worthy of its own existence as any sessile ecology."

"How dare you!"

"Okay. Stop. Everybody, just stop." I let out a loud aggrieved sigh and held my palms out. "We're getting way off topic. This is not the place for this. You two can just send angry emails to each other later."

"Oh no… I'm very sorry, commander." Jenny moaned.

"I also apologize. I mean no disrespect, Miss Marsh."

"Okay! Great! That's settled. Let's move on!" I clapped my hands, then pointed at Alesa deVorcelk. Then at Joachim Hosbruck. Back to Alesa. Then to Joachim. "Tell me just how much luck Morgan Bank had in being a lender to colonies by other factions. Can you incorporate and establish companies in their territories, fully compliant and protected by the laws of these other factions?"

"Morgan Bank has branches in Gaia's Landing, UN Authority, University Base, and until recently – Sparta Command. It would be no problem to establish any form of business or holding company. We can file the appropriate forms, attend hearings, and pay the appropriate fees on your behalf from our integral association with Morgan Accounts and Morgan Advocates."

And this was the other reason I was not content to stay in Morganite Territory. I probably would not be able to take hearing about MorganEverything every MorganDay.

"Excellent. This brings me to the third issue. Liquidation. I was emailed my statement of account last night. My money's secured by rare metals, but I need readily accessible funds that's valid across all settlements."

"Morgan Bank can very easily float you that cash, Commander." Alesa said.

"I want half of my assets liquidated at present market rates."

"Pardon me a moment, please." Alesa cut in. "My companion seems to be having a heart attack."

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS "**The Merchant Exchange**"

\- n received:

In the earliest days, "trade" was a foreign idea to the surviving colonists. Equipment was effectively held in common, and given to whoever was best suited to use it in the fight for survival. Once the immediate struggle was over, the colonists began to reassert concepts of ownership and formal resource allocation. Most of the early bases did this by using plain barter for all exchanges.

Once the colonists had built an **Industrial Base**, it became possible to go beyond this simple arrangement. One faction's home base was within reasonable travel distance of several others. A few would-be entrepreneurs took advantage of this face by trading needed items with the nearby communities. Soon, a formal commodities market appeared, dealing in salvaged equipment, newly manufactured equipment, and even a few small luxuries.

This **Merchant Exchange** was a popular place to do business from the very first years on Planet. Over the following centuries, it grew to become Planet's primary financial center, bringing its sponsoring faction considerable wealth. (credit:GURPS Alpha Centauri)

Nwabudike Morgan planned Morgan Industries to be the nerve center of several nearby specialist colonies. Energy from Morgan Interstellar to the West, Minerals from Morgan Mines to the South, and finished goods from Morgan Robotics to the North-east. Opening up the Straits of Prometheus to the Gulf of Phylira gave Morganites full access to the markets of the Peacekeepers.

Due to their centralized location, for some time it seemed as if UN Headquarters would be the preferred site for a Merchant Exchange, but Morgan Industries benefited greatly from the sheer efficiency of its industrial and commercial and trading networks; able to produce vast amounts of quality goods for trade at very affordable prices. Morgan products quickly became the items of choice for any emerging middle-class household.

AN:

I make no claims for the sustainability of the Morgan econo-political model. It's all fiction. [edit] Switched around the MEMSTOR data.


	10. Extraction 06 B

**Interlude [07] - Jennefer Marsh**

* * *

o0o

The first five years on Planet were the hardest. It was said that a Landing Pod could support one thousand people, yes. But it couldn't exactly _fit _one thousand people. My parents arrived on a world where the air was poison, the water was poison, the plants were poison, and the animals… seemed harmless enough. That is, until the Scout Patrols met their first Mind Worm boil, and so there went whatever hopes that Planet would be a gracious host to its uninvited guests.

Given the sheer inhospitability of Planet's ecology, it was often a surprise to other factions that the Gaian philosophy existed at all.

I was among the first generations of those born on Planet. Born Jennefer Marsh to Jack Marsh and Elita Muirne. My elder brother, Robert Marsh. was actually conceived on Mission Year 2100 – on the Year of Arrival – and _the_ second child to be born on a new world. (My parents, I'm now aware, had to marry _very_ quickly.) I was born on Mission Year 2104.

My brother was a fervent Gaian. He grew up in a cold dark hole. And I mean nothing less than a cold dark hole, because the Landing Pod that would eventually turn into the settlement of Gaia's Landing landed along the slopes of the Pholus Ridge. And by land, as my parents recounted to me, it was more like half-crash into a mountainside then sloooowly slide down until the people inside could stop panicking.

The original mission orders called for an orderly settlement made with prefab structures, but even the equipment to put up those structures were irreplaceable. The Landing Pod was disassembled to form the core buildings and facilities of Gaia's Landing. But there were over eight hundred people that needed housing, and if they used all the materials just for housing, then that would mean uncomfortably small hospitals, laboratories, creches and learning centers, factories, indoor greenhouses, and communal areas.

They found some caves, sealed the end, pumped the air out, and made sure it was all air-tight, then ran some lights inside. They chiseled out rooms, dug channels for latrines that emptied out into a pit for composting, and for the first year of Arrival, everybody – even Deirdre Skye, I was told – slept on the cold ground on bedrolls and ate mushy food.

For four years, my brother grew up in a cave, raised by an entire troop of adults, who sadly were often just too exhausted coming back from work. He was the only thing to brighten their day, reminding them that all their hard work was for the sake of countless generations yet unborn. I was too young to retain any memory of those days.

I had a much easier childhood. His early maturity, the praise he drew from the adults, that was the standard I wished to emulate.

o0o

* * *

By Mission Year 2105, Gaian technology and industry had figured out how to create airtight pseudo-concrete out of what was otherwise useless xenofungus, and we gained unlimited and renewable building material. The first open-air farms on Planet thrived. Plants loved the nitrates in the soil, and did not care about the low levels of oxygen in their air.

After living in a hole for so long, my brother cried upon finally leaving that cave for good. He saw the open sky, the cultivated grounds, the farms and forests nestled into rows alongside native flora so that they were pollinated by the symbiotic creatures that tended to the native plants, and the towering mounds of Gaia's Landing… and all was beautiful.

By the actions of his parents, and his parent's generation, he was made free. By applying old knowledge into new horizons, they made out of Planet a safe refuge, a loving home. By the understanding of Centauri Ecology, all the children born to Planet would never go hungry. By the understanding of Biogenetics, they would be protected from poisons and disease. By the understanding of Social Psychology, they can grow up as well-adjusted citizens ready to claim their birthright. Deirdre shared this knowledge to all other factions encountered on Planet, asking little in return.

The least he could do to respect the sacrifices of the generation before him was to preserve and protect their legacy of respect and harmony with Planet's native ecosystem. Wild animals were just that – wild, and if they attacked, that was their nature. Left unprovoked however, mankind on Planet could so very easily live in harmony, peace, and satiety.

And now my brother was dead. Murdered by the Spartans.

o0o

* * *

Sending off the Colony Pod broke our family.

About nine years past Arrival, the Council floated the idea of setting up a base to the north, in a much better location than Gaia's Landing. Whereas Gaia's Landing was set up on the slopes of a hill, though with the good fortune of a sheltered bay that would likely become very useful later on, there was a much flatter area with better rainfall and two areas with veins of minerals close to the surface. This area was also within reach of a Pholus Ridge peak with geothermal activity… and hot springs.

It was the perfect location for farming, mining, spreading out the population, and perhaps tourism and relaxation. It had the potential of being the new de facto capital of the new faction formally known as the Stepdaughters of Gaia. Deirdre approved of the idea.

My father and my elder brother were eager to move and work there. However, my mother wanted to stay. By then, at 2112 when the Colony Pod had finished construction, she had born my father four children – a boy, a girl, a girl, and a boy again. At this point Gaia's Landing was well-established, and the younger children were made to go to school instead of the informal hands-on apprenticeship method of instruction that educated my brother's generation. Gaia's Landing had grown _comfortable_.

Traveling overland on Planet was still very difficult, and the task so very labor-intensive, that it would be years before we'd all see each other again. Just as my mother had good reasons not to leave, my father could not be persuaded to stay. He understood the philosophy of conservation and the great usefulness of relying on renewables and living within one's means, but he had never really been comfortable with the Gaian outlook that was starting to speak about Planet in near-mystical terms.

Not all colonists who were in the Landing Pod were a part of Deirdre's team, after all. In the confusion of the evacuation, colonists just headed for the nearest pod upon waking up. My father was a very practical man, and had little need nor patience for a thinking. He simply endured it the same way he endured everything else.

The Council was very heavily under Deirdre's influence however, because of course the people were only too happy to elect and re-elect the people who figured out how to feed them, and clothe them, and warm them and continued to look for ways to make their life on Planet safer and more pleasant.

The new colony would be named The Flowers Preach. Even then, I was sure, the name irritated my father very much.

And that was my childhood. By the age of eight, I was left without paternal or brotherly influence. However, it wasn't as if I was without guidance. In a way, every Gaian is a parent to all the children. We spent most of our days in the Children's Creche while the adults worked, and as we grew up we were always welcome to ask questions and learn more about the different jobs and new careers on base.

School was fun, because there was always some practical application for what we were learning. By the time I was sixteen, there were enough people and we had the beginnings of an Industrial Base that the concept of a 'college' entered the Gaian school system. That was an incredible time, because Deirdre herself would lecture on occasion about Xenoempathy and Life Systems. All around me, with every day, the world was changing and growing bigger.

o0o

* * *

The Gaian Explorers were among the bravest people on planet, mapping out the land and prospecting for resources for only the sake of discovery, not pay. They climbed mountains and willingly entered fungal bloom sites. Every great discovery was paid in lives, such as learning that low-frequency radio waves and radar _attracted_ Mind Worms.

It was only later that radios were set up to use high-frequency hopping that imitated Planet's innate strange electromagnetic fields that long-range communication became possible.

It was the explorers that, in 2107, found the wreck on the UNS Unity. It was a heart-wrenching scar on the face of Planet, thousands of kilometers across, with all sorts of debris scattered around the impact site. It was the explorers who braved the possibly radioactive site to see what could possibly have survived of humanity's great work. They found some intact Unity Supply Pods with equipment that could be repurposed, mining lasers, and some archives that helped us recover the foundations of better inter-Colony Information Networks (specially high-throughput microwave transmissions that would not attract native life) and advanced the creation of our Industrial Base.

But there was only so much one could do exploring on foot and on Rovers. The sea was the frontier to study, my brother said to me. It normally would take up to three months to travel the wilderness between Gaia's Landing and The Flowers Preach, hardly good conditions for sharing and trading resources. But on a ship? That was just a week.

Three years after leaving to set up a new colony, our family was whole again.

This time my father would stay for good. But not my brother, he would be part of the new Sea Explorers, on the first long-distance ships made with schematics traded with the Spartans. We were only two years apart in age, but I wanted to go on an adventure too!

He patted my head and said "The most I can do as an Explorer is to look at things and haul up samples. Study hard so that you can tell me what these things are that I'm bringing back."

And those were glorious days indeed. Laying down an explorer ship was a great undertaking, one that could perhaps be used for other base facilities that could make our lives

Who was there to round the crown of Hera, to glimpse a land so pink with xenofungus from end to end? Robert Marsh! Who broke into the Northern Ocean? Robert Marsh! Who sailed all the way around the Pholus Ridge and the Sea of Pholus to arrive at the newest Gaian colony built as our gateway to the East? Robert Marsh!

Of course, he was just one of the younger sailors there, the honor would go to Captain Nobel, but oh damn it – I wanted more than just a pat on the head! Adventure!

My father didn't allow me to join the first wave of colonists to set up the Song of Planet, established to the southeast of Gaia's Landing. From his experience, that was always the least enjoyable part of the experience. But I wanted to sleep in uncomfortable conditions and work with limited means, too! That was what makes it worth the trip!

"You're cute" one of my friends said to me. "But you're crazy."

o0o

* * *

My time arrived at 2123, all this while my brother was promoted to an executive officer on the newest ship, the Rosinbloom under Captain Nobel's command. It was a Laser Foil, because we learned heavier weaponry were necessary to deal with attacks by Isles of the Deep.

Fascinating creatures! They were actually the aquatic vector of the Mind Worm, fused together as one mass through a natural calcifying glue. Bouyant with gas pockets, these living islands, which could grow to the size of actual islands, roamed the seas in search of prey or carrion. They moved through some form of water jet, capable of speed matching or even exceeding our motors.

And of course, there were also capable of psychic assaults as their land-borne cousins.

My brother was wildly considered a vessel of good luck for the crew, because while they were all paralyzed only he could move as if unaffected and steer the ship away.

So, with the launching of the second Gaian Explorer ship and the keel being laid for the third (and Transport craft don't count), it was my brother's turn to live up to his promise. Scientists were needed aboard, and I would learn what it means to be a Sea Explorer.

Adventure was a whole lot of sitting and waiting. I tried not to grumble. I asked for it. The Dawn Greeter had a crew of 20, and everyone pulled their weight. The Executive Officer of the ship was more like the one in charge of logistics and paperwork. My brother promptly pawned off that responsibility to me as soon as I joined the crew so he could spend more time joining the surveyors whenever the ship pulled to shore.

"This is not favoritism or nepotism!" I complained. "This is just abuse!" The crew found it too funny. Jerks. But I was good at math and reading maps, so it wasn't too bad.

And, in time, I would _officially_ become the Dawn Greeter's executive officer, under Captain Jean Boothby, while my brother moved out to become the Captain of his own ship – the GSV Dendrobium. The newest ship was actually armored with layers of sythnmetal and had its laser cannon in a turret. It was as close to a warship as we dared build.

We Gaians only ever had three ships that could be said to be of any military use, and we sent them all out to accompany a Sea Colony Pod paid in part by the Morganites. We would have to sail past dense sea fungus, where an Isle of the Deep might suddenly appear. Planet was dangerous, but the most dangerous beings in it were other humans.

And now my friends were dead, murdered through Morgan lies.

o0o

* * *

My brother could not have died. He was the favored son of Planet!

But he placed his ship between us and the enemy, and the Dendrobium was lost with all hands. He fought and he gave his life to give us and the Sea Colony Pod time to get away.

"Should we… wait?" I was asked. Left unspoken was _'for the bodies to float up?'_

I shook my head. It was only an hour ago that I saw Captain Boothby's cut nearly in half, her shoulder exploding into chunks. Her corpse fell on top of me, and I screamed in both terror and disgust. The lady who taught me all the little tricks of survival on sea that my time with the Aquafarms did not impart, her smile and her strange 'hih-hih-hih' laugh, gone in an instant.

And people called the Morgan-Spartan War a farce just because it didn't involve armies fighting on land. Why, a few days ago, were we so gods-damned naïve as to think raiding involved no real violence or deaths?

I wondered if it was not a punishment for our own brand of hubris?

We Gaians are not a chosen people.

We are those who have chosen. Freely, with eyes wide open, we have decided to live in a way that respects life and seeks to avoid senseless waste and hostility. Yet have we deluded ourselves that being a more moral person should somehow protect us from danger?

If my brother, who deserved most of all to live and change Planet for the better – if his fate is rejected, what hope was there for us?

After an hour, we saw a ship approaching from the horizon. We thought that the Morgans, contrary to our expectations, would dare to send their own ships for rescue even with the threat of Spartan warships in the area.

As it approached, only then did we realize – it was far too _big_.

Sending that Sea Colony Pod broke us.

There was nothing that could put us back together again, not even the greatest miracle of science.

o0o

* * *

Nemo.

A man with no name. A name without a nation.

All marine scientists inevitably comes to read about the Nautilus and its travelers in their adventures 40,000 leagues under the sea. Jules Verne was a classic adventure and a very well-presented science fiction story for its day. The wonders of the sea however would in the consciousness of mankind pale beside this tortured man who chose to live apart not just from the laws of man, but the very natural habitat of his species.

He was living mystery that survived through the centuries.

And now, another Nemo rescued us, gave us shelter, and even as he bled he revealed – that he possessed power over us. How could you trust such a man?

"If you allow a man a chance to be good, then he will be good" Captain Nobel said to me. "But if you expect only evil from someone, then evil is something you breed in both your hearts."

"Why? It's not... as easy as you make it sound, sir. We could be in so much danger again. Where is the justice in that?"

"Because we must, because anything less it would be a betrayal of everything they died for. We must put our fate in someone else's hand not because we're afraid, but because we are brave enough to believe that there is still good in the world."

Everyone else had left to their own rooms. Nemo was in his plush bedroom. Nemo was arrogant and bombastic and sometimes he was just such a _child_. That was even more terrifying, because how could you trust someone with such power with so little self-control? A tantrum would do so much damage.

Captain Nobel and I were standing right outside the door. "We have all lost people. Not just this time, but every time we as Explorers set out. I've seen comrades die screaming, Mind Worms burrowing into their eye sockets to lay eggs inside their brains. I am not saying this to say this loss isn't the greatest we've suffered – but that we as Gaians, it is also a part of our nature to live with sacrifice.

If he did not come along, what do you think would have happened?"

"Maybe the Morgans would come around in a day or two. Maybe they'd do it to finish us off. The lifeboats… they would have enough battery power to bring us to shore. But if we did that, our fuel cells might not have enough to keep charging our air recyclers and water purifiers. We would…" here I took a deep breath. "We would have to draw lots."

Our main problem was air – Chiron had very low oxygen levels, and enough atmospheric pressure with nitrogen compounds to make every breath poison. Inert gas necrosis after prolonged exposure could be expected from breathing in the _barely_ breathable air at sea level.

People had to die so we could survive. If I had to give my life up, I could only hope to face it with so much dignity.

"Do you understand what I'm asking from you?"

I nodded and prepared my heart. "Yes, sir."

He just sighed and began rubbing at his forehead. "No. Clearly, you don't. It doesn't matter if he rescued us, it doesn't matter that he's been so helpful. You are _a trained medic_. You're going in there to help. Anything more than that? If he tries anything, it is your duty to beat his face like a drum until he stops."

"… sir, maybe we should bring back Adelaide for this."

"Not for gratitude, Jen, nor to secure an alliance. (Besides, in this condition? She'd kill him.)" He coughed. "Listen carefully, this is your mission."

"Sir."

"A man of mystery is only powerful as long as his mysteries remain a tantalizing prospect. I believe that is why he chose to ally with us, the Gaians. He knows we are the only ones who would _respect_ his need to keep secrets. If he comes to us as a friend, then we Gaians _will be his friend_.

This has ever been our philosophy. A community is not a place, it is a connection to history and meaning, and ours is that _never again_ shall we repeat that which led Earth to ruin."

"What does this have to do with Nemo? He's just one man."

"I am not blind, Jen. I recognize the way he walks, the way he talks, the way his eyes look at everything with a mixture of both familiarity and incomprehension. This is a man who might as well have walked straight off the blood-stained sands of southern Turkey or south California. I speak to him not as someone on Planet, but as unto a lost tourist on Earth, and he _responds in kind_."

I gasped and put a hand up to my lips. "Sir! Are you saying…?"

"That Earth may have sent a second expedition? It is possible, but we should have seen a drive flare by now."

"Then… what do you think this is all about?"

"I don't know. And this is what's most important, Jen. You have to communicate to him – **it doesn't matter**. We **don't care**. We will treat him as an equal, we will respect his boundaries, but neither are we going to kowtow to his whims. If he wants servants and sycophants, he can just get the hell out. There is no one else on this Planet that he can turn to who won't be full of _prying jackholes_."

"I… see."

"Take care of him, but don't let him push you around." The Captain paused to consider. "In fact… it might be better if you were a bit more aggressive with him."

"Sir!" I huffed. "I do not have _that_ fetish."

"Why must you young people always put everything in a carnal context? I mean treat him as you would your brothers."

I put a hand over my heart and winced as I bowed. "I… can do that, sir."

o0o

* * *

Now Nemo looked up at me with a touch of fear in his eyes. Where was the sense in that?

_'Why me? What power do I have over you?' _I wanted to ask. We were playing a silly little farce where we pretended we were hiding nothing from each other. My captain ordered me to take care of him, and I did. I ordered him around, and he obeyed. It was as if instinctive for him. It looked as if he would tolerate from me anything short of nagging or physical violence.

It was a delicate dance. We could see how much Nemo enjoyed the sometimes vicious repartee between him and Captain Nobel. We all pushed, trying to provoke reactions from each other. It was… fun. It bordered on the disrespectful, as I said before.

I remembered: "Normally at this point a commanding officer would say that should you not get emotionally involved. But nuts to that. Be _compromised_. Get your emotions all tangled up in his well-being. You're not his handler. We're not the Morgans running a honey pot scheme. You're _batwoman_."

"… I don't follow." Na na na nan na na?

"Go and tell him that. If he's really from Earth, he's going to recognize what it really means."

"That glorious sunuvabitch…" was Nemo's response later. "An officer's orderly, without whom he might as well just stay in bed being useless to anybody. The Alfred to my Bruce Wayne. The Jurgen to my Ciaphas Cain. The Sancho Panza to myself as Don Quixote de La Mancha." He blinked, with his eyes owlishly wide. "That's… heh. All right. Let him know I really appreciate this."

"Um. May I ask why can't you just say it yourself, sir?"

"Because that would be _rude_, Jen. Just rude."

Please do not involve me in the infantile games between you two.

o0o

* * *

"What do you think I'm angry about this time?" I asked instead, in a much gentler tone of voice.

"I… honestly have no idea" was his response. He groaned. "I mean, there are far too many things, how the heck should I know? It's your call." He splayed his arms out as if ready to be crucified. "Just hit me with it."

This was probably the reason why I was the one trusted to supervise him. I was the only one among the crew that would NOT take advantage of the many openings to innuendo he offered.

Was he just playing with me? Was it just some sex thing after all? I was not a very worldly woman. I was not… experienced… in such things. But even I could tell that when that Morgan woman was trying to seduce him, what I initially thought was interest was actually sheer naked terror.

Treat him as you would your brothers. That was easy. Because as much as I respect my elder brother, Robert Marsh was sometimes just so much such a reckless idiot. And my youngest brother, William? Annoying. There were times I loved them to bits, and times when I would love to break them to bits. This was the normal sibling experience, I was told.

"You were whispering something to that Morgan woman…? You really scared her for a moment there, sir. I don't mean to imply anything, but… are you sure it's something that won't come back to bite you later?"

He let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, about that… I really regret doing that."

"Umm." I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. It's none of my business anyway, sir."

"For all I know, anything may happen now! It's probably just a coincidence!" he hurriedly added, as if that would offer any defense. Instead of taking my hint out of the uncomfortable line of questioning, it seemed he would rather double down on the idiocy. "Even if the logo for Morgan Metagenics looks anything like an Umbrella, that doesn't mean I may have to pre-emptively nuke the place!"

What.

Nukes. What. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, and I had to remind myself that I was _not_ in _any way_ allowed to beat any answers out of him. "Morgan Metagenics?" I asked hesitantly. "What's going to happen at Morgan Metagenics?"

He began to wave his arms around wildly. "Nothing! Probably nothing! Very much nothing!" he stopped. "… there's a tiny tiny _tiny_ chance there may be zombies."

"Zombies." I said back tonelessly.

"I'm not proud of it…" he whimpered.

"You saw the future… and it was _zombies_."

He groaned louder and hid his face in his palms. "I'm not sure. I don't know… I can't know. She's too much like Alice, it's like the universe is taunting me."

_'What is wrong with you?_' I did not ask, because I knew the answer. Most likely it was the same thing that was wrong with me. "Who is Alice?' I asked, in a softer and more conciliatory tone of voice.

"Alice… is _exactly_ like how she appeared on Resident Evil. If Miss deVorcelk has someone on staff named anything similar to Jill Valentine or Albert Wesker, I _really _don't want to have to clean that up."

Wait. Resident Evil. "Excuse me, what. Are you saying…" It was like a hammer was hitting me right behind eyeballs. "Do you mean … are you talking about _fiction?_"

"Um. Yes."

Fiction.

I closed my eyes and massaged my temples.

Fiction.

How much of _anything_ he'd said so far could we take on face value?

This only really added more fuel to the time traveler theory. I sat on the table and picked up the cup of tea. I took a few sips in silence to collect myself. Ahh. This was a fine Gaian blend. _Fiction._

Of course. If you had submarines, it was inevitable you would name one of them Nautilus. If you had a starship, it was inevitable one of them would be named Enterprise. And it would become one of the most decorated ships of the fleet, because the crew would take for granted that they had to live up to the name.

The ARM Empire... was that fictional too?

"This… Oh." I raised my thumb to my lips and began nervously chewing on my thumbnail. "I have no idea what I should do about this. Captain only said to hit you if you fucked it up. But if you're _fucking with them_, I don't know if I should cheer you on. This is an amazing way to get them to waste so much time and money chasing after shadows. Was this your plan all along?"

He groaned and covered his face with a pillow. "It's not planned."

"That… doesn't really matter, does it?"

There was no response for a long while, that I wondered if he did manage to choke himself. But eventually his voice filtered through the pillow – "Jen...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I can't... I can't take vengeance for what happened. Only you – only Deirdre Skye – only the Gaians have the right to assign blame and call for reparations. I'm just here to help you get home."

It was a good thing his face was covered, he couldn't see me reel back as if I'd been backhanded. He was right. He was helping us out of the kindness of his heart and we've been just as brazenly using him.

"I understand. Please excuse my impudence…" My brother did not die for this.

"But what you said… is a really good idea."

"What."

"It's a nonviolent solution. I can **do** nonviolent solutions." He laughed while pressing the pillow even harder into his face. "The Spartans may feel my A-game. I don't think Deirdre can deny me that… though the Morgans may have led them to false conclusions… they are the still ones who made that final decision. It _should_ have been equally as easy, even easier, to choose not to murder."

Here his voice drifted off into wonder. "For it to be so easy not to murder…"

There were so many questions that I wanted to ask, so many mysteries I wanted to unravel, so much injustice I wanted to see avenged. Yet, it would not be right.

I was, after all, a Gaian. I remembered the Gaian Acolyte's Prayer –

_\- - - I shall not confront Planet as an enemy, but shall accept_  
_\- - - its mysteries as gifts to be cherished. Nor shall I crudely_  
_\- - - seek to peel the layers away like the skin from an onion._  
_\- - - Instead I shall gather them together as the tree gathers the_  
_\- - - breeze. The wind shall blow and I shall bend. The sky shall_  
_\- - - open and I shall drink my fill._

Like Planet itself, I would not seek to demand things from Nemo in all his strangeness and all his anachronisms, for whatever knowledge or wealth I might gain was not worth the friendship we cultivated.

Oh...! If only it were possible for Nemo and my brother to meet each other, I am sure they would have become fast friends too.

o0o

* * *

Because brothers and sisters were natural nemeses.

When viewing him through that lens, it was surprising how very little I had to fear. It was surprisingly how little restraint I had to exercise in the danger of offending him somehow. The power he represented was intimidating, but once you figured out that much like Captain Nobel he relished being able to provoke reactions out of people, the best response was just a calm unamused stare.

"That is _adorable_." Captain Nobel once said, upon seeing my stern disapproving gaze for the first time.

"Stop bullying my XO, Jacob." Captain Boothby came to my defense. Now hers was a glare that could strip paint off a hull! I spent so much time in front of a mirror trying to imitate that look.

A shower of viscera, eyes full of shock, as the head starts to peel away from the neck –

I closed my eyes and took six deep calming breaths. I blinked and turned my focus back onto my work –

o0o

* * *

A day had passed, and we all had enough of the Morgans and their lifestyle.

Adelaide and Rommel approached, each carrying a heap of monogrammed towels. "Hey, Nemo. Since you're the one paying for all of this, the Captain said to ask if it's okay to steal the all towels in the suite."

I looked up from the checklist, about to ask "… why?" when Nemo responded with clear understanding.

"Oh, right. It's tradition." It's a _what?_ "If this high-class hotel can't deal with its guests keeping some souvenirs, it's out of luck getting its high-paying clients back for a second stay."

"See?" Adelaide said, bumping Rommel with her hip. "It's fine. Pack it in."

"Not so fast! We need a second opinion. Jenny, what do you think?"

I turned away, completely losing interest. "You may steal if you want. It's a small thing, all it takes is knowing you can live with yourself as a thief."

"Tch. Fine." Adelaide put her towels on top of Rommel's pile, covering his face.

Nemo tilted his head slightly. "Wait a second, why bother asking me if the final decision's going to be Jenny's anyway? It's not like I don't understand it, what with the whole Gaian chain of command and all… but what's the point in asking twice?"

"There was always the chance you two would agree on the best decision." Rommel answered carefully as he shuffled away.

"What the hell." Nemo turned and pointed at me. "What is this, Jen? Are you my Jenemy Cricket now?!"

I looked up. "Jenemy Cri… oh. Jiminy Cricket. Pinocchio." I loved that movie. _Let your conscience be your guide. _I smiled. "Yes. Yes I am."

He looked stunned for a moment, then his face spread out into the most awestruck boyish grin. "I can live with that."

I held the data slate up to my face. I was no longer some giggly teenager, surely I was _not_ blushing.

"HELLOO CAMPERS!" Captain Nobel burst into the room and announced "WE'RE ALL PACKED UP AND READY TO GO! EVERYBODY OUT, CHOP CHOP. EXCEPT YOU TWO OVER THERE, DON'T THINK I DON'T SEE YOU HAVING _A_ _MOMENT_ THERE.

WE'LL COME BACK IN TWO HOURS, LOVEBIRDS. TEE TEE EFF ENN."

"I approve." I said out loud.

"Eh?"

"If you want to go over there and strangle the Captain? I'd just like you to know I pre-emptively approve of that course of action."

"You are _the best_ conscience." Nemo replied with an gleeful grin, and he leapt off the couch to spar against the Captain some more.

Captain Nobel was a _master_ at breaking sequence. I did not whether to be relived or annoyed every time he implied something about Nemo and myself… the harder he pushed us together, the more we would try to keep our distance. Or maybe he was training us to think it would not be such a bad thing?

A true master at Social Psychology. He was not the Gaian's foremost Explorer for nothing, able to hold together a crew for _years_ in isolation in out in the wilderness. He was like that odd uncle in the family, the one who always showed up at around mealtimes, and you were never quite sure if he was a bum or just independently wealthy.

Captain Nobel and Nemo were gyrating in place and clawing at the air. Oh Planet. Some sort of rap battle?

o0o

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Unity Rover**"

\- n received:

The U.N.S. Unity was stocked with many of lightly armed **Unity Rovers**, intended for use in exploring Planet's landmasses. Most Landing Pods had between four to six inside in a disassembled state, while many more were intended to be dropped in Unity Supply Pods rather than take up valuable room inside Unity Landing Pods. Powered by a small 275 kW radiothermal generator good for 14 years of operation, and a 1500 kWh energy bank, Rovers were critical for the early exploration of Planet. Apart from seating for the crew and passengers, it also contained a small galley and plenty of room for miscellaneous cargo or mission packs. Dimensions inside were fairly tall and with 'wasted' volume, so conditions were fairly comfortable.

A Unity Rover was capable of supporting seven Explorers or new colonists for weeks without contact with a base. The first Explorer teams packed their Unity Rover full with several months worth of supplies and a backup generator, and rode outside as they mapped all around the landing site. They set up base camps and supply caches for later waves of Explorers and resource Surveyors, who often had to proceed on foot.

Only later would the **Industrial Base **and the assembly of new radiothermal generators (due to the lack of usable fossil fuels) allow the manufacture of new Rover vehicles. And with them, an evolving **Doctrine: Mobility** would form the earliest cornerstone for organized defense and response to emergencies on Planet.


	11. Extraction 07 - Interlude

**Interlude [07] - Jennefer Marsh**

* * *

o0o

The first five years on Planet were the hardest. It was said that a Landing Pod could support one thousand people, yes. But it couldn't exactly _fit _one thousand people. My parents arrived on a world where the air was poison, the water was poison, the plants were poison, and the animals… seemed harmless enough. That is, until the Scout Patrols met their first Mind Worm boil, and so there went whatever hopes that Planet would be a gracious host to its uninvited guests.

Given the sheer inhospitability of Planet's ecology, it was often a surprise to other factions that the Gaian philosophy existed at all.

I was among the first generations of those born on Planet. Born Jennefer Marsh to Jack Marsh and Elita Muirne. My elder brother, Robert Marsh. was actually conceived on Mission Year 2100 – on the Year of Arrival – and _the_ second child to be born on a new world. (My parents, I'm now aware, had to marry _very_ quickly.) I was born on Mission Year 2104.

My brother was a fervent Gaian. He grew up in a cold dark hole. And I mean nothing less than a cold dark hole, because the Landing Pod that would eventually turn into the settlement of Gaia's Landing landed along the slopes of the Pholus Ridge. And by land, as my parents recounted to me, it was more like half-crash into a mountainside then sloooowly slide down until the people inside could stop panicking.

The original mission orders called for an orderly settlement made with prefab structures, but even the equipment to put up those structures were irreplaceable. The Landing Pod was disassembled to form the core buildings and facilities of Gaia's Landing. But there were over eight hundred people that needed housing, and if they used all the materials just for housing, then that would mean uncomfortably small hospitals, laboratories, creches and learning centers, factories, indoor greenhouses, and communal areas.

They found some caves, sealed the end, pumped the air out, and made sure it was all air-tight, then ran some lights inside. They chiseled out rooms, dug channels for latrines that emptied out into a pit for composting, and for the first year of Arrival, everybody – even Deirdre Skye, I was told – slept on the cold ground on bedrolls and ate mushy food.

For four years, my brother grew up in a cave, raised by an entire troop of adults, who sadly were often just too exhausted coming back from work. He was the only thing to brighten their day, reminding them that all their hard work was for the sake of countless generations yet unborn. I was too young to retain any memory of those days.

I had a much easier childhood. His early maturity, the praise he drew from the adults, that was the standard I wished to emulate.

o0o

* * *

By Mission Year 2105, Gaian technology and industry had figured out how to create airtight pseudo-concrete out of what was otherwise useless xenofungus, and we gained unlimited and renewable building material. The first open-air farms on Planet thrived. Plants loved the nitrates in the soil, and did not care about the low levels of oxygen in their air.

After living in a hole for so long, my brother cried upon finally leaving that cave for good. He saw the open sky, the cultivated grounds, the farms and forests nestled into rows alongside native flora so that they were pollinated by the symbiotic creatures that tended to the native plants, and the towering mounds of Gaia's Landing… and all was beautiful.

By the actions of his parents, and his parent's generation, he was made free. By applying old knowledge into new horizons, they made out of Planet a safe refuge, a loving home. By the understanding of Centauri Ecology, all the children born to Planet would never go hungry. By the understanding of Biogenetics, they would be protected from poisons and disease. By the understanding of Social Psychology, they can grow up as well-adjusted citizens ready to claim their birthright. Deirdre shared this knowledge to all other factions encountered on Planet, asking little in return.

The least he could do to respect the sacrifices of the generation before him was to preserve and protect their legacy of respect and harmony with Planet's native ecosystem. Wild animals were just that – wild, and if they attacked, that was their nature. Left unprovoked however, mankind on Planet could so very easily live in harmony, peace, and satiety.

And now my brother was dead. Murdered by the Spartans.

o0o

* * *

Sending off the Colony Pod broke our family.

About nine years past Arrival, the Council floated the idea of setting up a base to the north, in a much better location than Gaia's Landing. Whereas Gaia's Landing was set up on the slopes of a hill, though with the good fortune of a sheltered bay that would likely become very useful later on, there was a much flatter area with better rainfall and two areas with veins of minerals close to the surface. This area was also within reach of a Pholus Ridge peak with geothermal activity… and hot springs.

It was the perfect location for farming, mining, spreading out the population, and perhaps tourism and relaxation. It had the potential of being the new de facto capital of the new faction formally known as the Stepdaughters of Gaia. Deirdre approved of the idea.

My father and my elder brother were eager to move and work there. However, my mother wanted to stay. By then, at 2112 when the Colony Pod had finished construction, she had born my father four children – a boy, a girl, a girl, and a boy again. At this point Gaia's Landing was well-established, and the younger children were made to go to school instead of the informal hands-on apprenticeship method of instruction that educated my brother's generation. Gaia's Landing had grown _comfortable_.

Traveling overland on Planet was still very difficult, and the task so very labor-intensive, that it would be years before we'd all see each other again. Just as my mother had good reasons not to leave, my father could not be persuaded to stay. He understood the philosophy of conservation and the great usefulness of relying on renewables and living within one's means, but he had never really been comfortable with the Gaian outlook that was starting to speak about Planet in near-mystical terms.

Not all colonists who were in the Landing Pod were a part of Deirdre's team, after all. In the confusion of the evacuation, colonists just headed for the nearest pod upon waking up. My father was a very practical man, and had little need nor patience for a thinking. He simply endured it the same way he endured everything else.

The Council was very heavily under Deirdre's influence however, because of course the people were only too happy to elect and re-elect the people who figured out how to feed them, and clothe them, and warm them and continued to look for ways to make their life on Planet safer and more pleasant.

The new colony would be named The Flowers Preach. Even then, I was sure, the name irritated my father very much.

And that was my childhood. By the age of eight, I was left without paternal or brotherly influence. However, it wasn't as if I was without guidance. In a way, every Gaian is a parent to all the children. We spent most of our days in the Children's Creche while the adults worked, and as we grew up we were always welcome to ask questions and learn more about the different jobs and new careers on base.

School was fun, because there was always some practical application for what we were learning. By the time I was sixteen, there were enough people and we had the beginnings of an Industrial Base that the concept of a 'college' entered the Gaian school system. That was an incredible time, because Deirdre herself would lecture on occasion about Xenoempathy and Life Systems. All around me, with every day, the world was changing and growing bigger.

o0o

* * *

The Gaian Explorers were among the bravest people on planet, mapping out the land and prospecting for resources for only the sake of discovery, not pay. They climbed mountains and willingly entered fungal bloom sites. Every great discovery was paid in lives, such as learning that low-frequency radio waves and radar _attracted_ Mind Worms.

It was only later that radios were set up to use high-frequency hopping that imitated Planet's innate strange electromagnetic fields that long-range communication became possible.

It was the explorers that, in 2107, found the wreck on the UNS Unity. It was a heart-wrenching scar on the face of Planet, thousands of kilometers across, with all sorts of debris scattered around the impact site. It was the explorers who braved the possibly radioactive site to see what could possibly have survived of humanity's great work. They found some intact Unity Supply Pods with equipment that could be repurposed, mining lasers, and some archives that helped us recover the foundations of better inter-Colony Information Networks (specially high-throughput microwave transmissions that would not attract native life) and advanced the creation of our Industrial Base.

But there was only so much one could do exploring on foot and on Rovers. The sea was the frontier to study, my brother said to me. It normally would take up to three months to travel the wilderness between Gaia's Landing and The Flowers Preach, hardly good conditions for sharing and trading resources. But on a ship? That was just a week.

Three years after leaving to set up a new colony, our family was whole again.

This time my father would stay for good. But not my brother, he would be part of the new Sea Explorers, on the first long-distance ships made with schematics traded with the Spartans. We were only two years apart in age, but I wanted to go on an adventure too!

He patted my head and said "The most I can do as an Explorer is to look at things and haul up samples. Study hard so that you can tell me what these things are that I'm bringing back."

And those were glorious days indeed. Laying down an explorer ship was a great undertaking, one that could perhaps be used for other base facilities that could make our lives

Who was there to round the crown of Hera, to glimpse a land so pink with xenofungus from end to end? Robert Marsh! Who broke into the Northern Ocean? Robert Marsh! Who sailed all the way around the Pholus Ridge and the Sea of Pholus to arrive at the newest Gaian colony built as our gateway to the East? Robert Marsh!

Of course, he was just one of the younger sailors there, the honor would go to Captain Nobel, but oh damn it – I wanted more than just a pat on the head! Adventure!

My father didn't allow me to join the first wave of colonists to set up the Song of Planet, established to the southeast of Gaia's Landing. From his experience, that was always the least enjoyable part of the experience. But I wanted to sleep in uncomfortable conditions and work with limited means, too! That was what makes it worth the trip!

"You're cute" one of my friends said to me. "But you're crazy."

o0o

* * *

My time arrived at 2123, all this while my brother was promoted to an executive officer on the newest ship, the Rosinbloom under Captain Nobel's command. It was a Laser Foil, because we learned heavier weaponry were necessary to deal with attacks by Isles of the Deep.

Fascinating creatures! They were actually the aquatic vector of the Mind Worm, fused together as one mass through a natural calcifying glue. Bouyant with gas pockets, these living islands, which could grow to the size of actual islands, roamed the seas in search of prey or carrion. They moved through some form of water jet, capable of speed matching or even exceeding our motors.

And of course, there were also capable of psychic assaults as their land-borne cousins.

My brother was wildly considered a vessel of good luck for the crew, because while they were all paralyzed only he could move as if unaffected and steer the ship away.

So, with the launching of the second Gaian Explorer ship and the keel being laid for the third (and Transport craft don't count), it was my brother's turn to live up to his promise. Scientists were needed aboard, and I would learn what it means to be a Sea Explorer.

Adventure was a whole lot of sitting and waiting. I tried not to grumble. I asked for it. The Dawn Greeter had a crew of 20, and everyone pulled their weight. The Executive Officer of the ship was more like the one in charge of logistics and paperwork. My brother promptly pawned off that responsibility to me as soon as I joined the crew so he could spend more time joining the surveyors whenever the ship pulled to shore.

"This is not favoritism or nepotism!" I complained. "This is just abuse!" The crew found it too funny. Jerks. But I was good at math and reading maps, so it wasn't too bad.

And, in time, I would _officially_ become the Dawn Greeter's executive officer, under Captain Jean Boothby, while my brother moved out to become the Captain of his own ship – the GSV Dendrobium. The newest ship was actually armored with layers of sythnmetal and had its laser cannon in a turret. It was as close to a warship as we dared build.

We Gaians only ever had three ships that could be said to be of any military use, and we sent them all out to accompany a Sea Colony Pod paid in part by the Morganites. We would have to sail past dense sea fungus, where an Isle of the Deep might suddenly appear. Planet was dangerous, but the most dangerous beings in it were other humans.

And now my friends were dead, murdered through Morgan lies.

o0o

* * *

My brother could not have died. He was the favored son of Planet!

But he placed his ship between us and the enemy, and the Dendrobium was lost with all hands. He fought and he gave his life to give us and the Sea Colony Pod time to get away.

"Should we… wait?" I was asked. Left unspoken was _'for the bodies to float up?'_

I shook my head. It was only an hour ago that I saw Captain Boothby's cut nearly in half, her shoulder exploding into chunks. Her corpse fell on top of me, and I screamed in both terror and disgust. The lady who taught me all the little tricks of survival on sea that my time with the Aquafarms did not impart, her smile and her strange 'hih-hih-hih' laugh, gone in an instant.

And people called the Morgan-Spartan War a farce just because it didn't involve armies fighting on land. Why, a few days ago, were we so gods-damned naïve as to think raiding involved no real violence or deaths?

I wondered if it was not a punishment for our own brand of hubris?

We Gaians are not a chosen people.

We are those who have chosen. Freely, with eyes wide open, we have decided to live in a way that respects life and seeks to avoid senseless waste and hostility. Yet have we deluded ourselves that being a more moral person should somehow protect us from danger?

If my brother, who deserved most of all to live and change Planet for the better – if his fate is rejected, what hope was there for us?

After an hour, we saw a ship approaching from the horizon. We thought that the Morgans, contrary to our expectations, would dare to send their own ships for rescue even with the threat of Spartan warships in the area.

As it approached, only then did we realize – it was far too _big_.

Sending that Sea Colony Pod broke us.

There was nothing that could put us back together again, not even the greatest miracle of science.

o0o

* * *

Nemo.

A man with no name. A name without a nation.

All marine scientists inevitably comes to read about the Nautilus and its travelers in their adventures 20,000 leagues under the sea. Jules Verne was a classic adventure and a very well-presented science fiction story for its day. The wonders of the sea however would in the consciousness of mankind pale beside this tortured man who chose to live apart not just from the laws of man, but the very natural habitat of his species.

He was living mystery that survived through the centuries.

And now, another Nemo rescued us, gave us shelter, and even as he bled he revealed – that he possessed power over us. How could you trust such a man?

"If you allow a man a chance to be good, then he will be good" Captain Nobel said to me. "But if you expect only evil from someone, then evil is something you breed in both your hearts."

"Why? It's not... as easy as you make it sound, sir. We could be in so much danger again. Where is the justice in that?"

"Because we must, because anything less it would be a betrayal of everything they died for. We must put our fate in someone else's hand not because we're afraid, but because we are brave enough to believe that there is still good in the world."

Everyone else had left to their own rooms. Nemo was in his plush bedroom. Nemo was arrogant and bombastic and sometimes he was just such a _child_. That was even more terrifying, because how could you trust someone with such power with so little self-control? A tantrum would do so much damage.

Captain Nobel and I were standing right outside the door. "We have all lost people. Not just this time, but every time we as Explorers set out. I've seen comrades die screaming, Mind Worms burrowing into their eye sockets to lay eggs inside their brains. I am not saying this to say this loss isn't the greatest we've suffered – but that we as Gaians, it is also a part of our nature to live with sacrifice.

If he did not come along, what do you think would have happened?"

"Maybe the Morgans would come around in a day or two. Maybe they'd do it to finish us off. The lifeboats… they would have enough battery power to bring us to shore. But if we did that, our fuel cells might not have enough to keep charging our air recyclers and water purifiers. We would…" here I took a deep breath. "We would have to draw lots."

Our main problem was air – Chiron had very low oxygen levels, and enough atmospheric pressure with nitrogen compounds to make every breath poison. Inert gas necrosis after prolonged exposure could be expected from breathing in the _barely_ breathable air at sea level.

People had to die so we could survive. If I had to give my life up, I could only hope to face it with so much dignity.

"Do you understand what I'm asking from you?"

I nodded and prepared my heart. "Yes, sir."

He just sighed and began rubbing at his forehead. "No. Clearly, you don't. It doesn't matter if he rescued us, it doesn't matter that he's been so helpful. You are _a trained medic_. You're going in there to help. Anything more than that? If he tries anything, it is your duty to beat his face like a drum until he stops."

"… sir, maybe we should bring back Adelaide for this."

"Not for gratitude, Jen, nor to secure an alliance. (Besides, in this condition? She'd kill him.)" He coughed. "Listen carefully, this is your mission."

"Sir."

"A man of mystery is only powerful as long as his mysteries remain a tantalizing prospect. I believe that is why he chose to ally with us, the Gaians. He knows we are the only ones who would _respect_ his need to keep secrets. If he comes to us as a friend, then we Gaians _will be his friend_.

This has ever been our philosophy. A community is not a place, it is a connection to history and meaning, and ours is that _never again_ shall we repeat that which led Earth to ruin."

"What does this have to do with Nemo? He's just one man."

"I am not blind, Jen. I recognize the way he walks, the way he talks, the way his eyes look at everything with a mixture of both familiarity and incomprehension. This is a man who might as well have walked straight off the blood-stained sands of southern Turkey or south California. I speak to him not as someone on Planet, but as unto a lost tourist on Earth, and he _responds in kind_."

I gasped and put a hand up to my lips. "Sir! Are you saying…?"

"That Earth may have sent a second expedition? It is possible, but we should have seen a drive flare by now."

"Then… what do you think this is all about?"

"I don't know. And this is what's most important, Jen. You have to communicate to him – **it doesn't matter**. We **don't care**. We will treat him as an equal, we will respect his boundaries, but neither are we going to kowtow to his whims. If he wants servants and sycophants, he can just get the hell out. There is no one else on this Planet that he can turn to who won't be full of _prying jackholes_."

"I… see."

"Take care of him, but don't let him push you around." The Captain paused to consider. "In fact… it might be better if you were a bit more aggressive with him."

"Sir!" I huffed. "I do not have _that_ fetish."

"Why must you young people always put everything in a carnal context? I mean treat him as you would your brothers."

I put a hand over my heart and winced as I bowed. "I… can do that, sir."

o0o

* * *

Now Nemo looked up at me with a touch of fear in his eyes. Where was the sense in that?

_'Why me? What power do I have over you?' _I wanted to ask. We were playing a silly little farce where we pretended we were hiding nothing from each other. My captain ordered me to take care of him, and I did. I ordered him around, and he obeyed. It was as if instinctive for him. It looked as if he would tolerate from me anything short of nagging or physical violence.

It was a delicate dance. We could see how much Nemo enjoyed the sometimes vicious repartee between him and Captain Nobel. We all pushed, trying to provoke reactions from each other. It was… fun. It bordered on the disrespectful, as I said before.

I remembered: "Normally at this point a commanding officer would say that should you not get emotionally involved. But nuts to that. Be _compromised_. Get your emotions all tangled up in his well-being. You're not his handler. We're not the Morgans running a honey pot scheme. You're _batwoman_."

"… I don't follow." Na na na nan na na?

"Go and tell him that. If he's really from Earth, he's going to recognize what it really means."

"That glorious sunuvabitch…" was Nemo's response later. "An officer's orderly, without whom he might as well just stay in bed being useless to anybody. The Alfred to my Bruce Wayne. The Jurgen to my Ciaphas Cain. The Sancho Panza to myself as Don Quixote de La Mancha." He blinked, with his eyes owlishly wide. "That's… heh. All right. Let him know I really appreciate this."

"Um. May I ask why can't you just say it yourself, sir?"

"Because that would be _rude_, Jen. Just rude."

Please do not involve me in the infantile games between you two.

o0o

* * *

"What do you think I'm angry about this time?" I asked instead, in a much gentler tone of voice.

"I… honestly have no idea" was his response. He groaned. "I mean, there are far too many things, how the heck should I know? It's your call." He splayed his arms out as if ready to be crucified. "Just hit me with it."

This was probably the reason why I was the one trusted to supervise him. I was the only one among the crew that would NOT take advantage of the many openings to innuendo he offered.

Was he just playing with me? Was it just some sex thing after all? I was not a very worldly woman. I was not… experienced… in such things. But even I could tell that when that Morgan woman was trying to seduce him, what I initially thought was interest was actually sheer naked terror.

Treat him as you would your brothers. That was easy. Because as much as I respect my elder brother, Robert Marsh was sometimes just so much such a reckless idiot. And my youngest brother, William? Annoying. There were times I loved them to bits, and times when I would love to break them to bits. This was the normal sibling experience, I was told.

"You were whispering something to that Morgan woman…? You really scared her for a moment there, sir. I don't mean to imply anything, but… are you sure it's something that won't come back to bite you later?"

He let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, about that… I really regret doing that."

"Umm." I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. It's none of my business anyway, sir."

"For all I know, anything may happen now! It's probably just a coincidence!" he hurriedly added, as if that would offer any defense. Instead of taking my hint out of the uncomfortable line of questioning, it seemed he would rather double down on the idiocy. "Even if the logo for Morgan Metagenics looks anything like an Umbrella, that doesn't mean I may have to pre-emptively nuke the place!"

What.

Nukes. What. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, and I had to remind myself that I was _not_ in _any way_ allowed to beat any answers out of him. "Morgan Metagenics?" I asked hesitantly. "What's going to happen at Morgan Metagenics?"

He began to wave his arms around wildly. "Nothing! Probably nothing! Very much nothing!" he stopped. "… there's a tiny tiny _tiny_ chance there may be zombies."

"Zombies." I said back tonelessly.

"I'm not proud of it…" he whimpered.

"You saw the future… and it was _zombies_."

He groaned louder and hid his face in his palms. "I'm not sure. I don't know… I can't know. She's too much like Alice, it's like the universe is taunting me."

_'What is wrong with you?_' I did not ask, because I knew the answer. Most likely it was the same thing that was wrong with me. "Who is Alice?' I asked, in a softer and more conciliatory tone of voice.

"Alice… is _exactly_ like how she appeared on Resident Evil. If Miss deVorcelk has someone on staff named anything similar to Jill Valentine or Albert Wesker, I _really _don't want to have to clean that up."

Wait. Resident Evil. "Excuse me, what. Are you saying…" It was like a hammer was hitting me right behind eyeballs. "Do you mean … are you talking about _fiction?_"

"Um. Yes."

Fiction.

I closed my eyes and massaged my temples.

Fiction.

How much of _anything_ he'd said so far could we take on face value?

This only really added more fuel to the time traveler theory. I sat on the table and picked up the cup of tea. I took a few sips in silence to collect myself. Ahh. This was a fine Gaian blend. _Fiction._

Of course. If you had submarines, it was inevitable you would name one of them Nautilus. If you had a starship, it was inevitable one of them would be named Enterprise. And it would become one of the most decorated ships of the fleet, because the crew would take for granted that they had to live up to the name.

The ARM Empire... was that fictional too?

"This… Oh." I raised my thumb to my lips and began nervously chewing on my thumbnail. "I have no idea what I should do about this. Captain only said to hit you if you fucked it up. But if you're _fucking with them_, I don't know if I should cheer you on. This is an amazing way to get them to waste so much time and money chasing after shadows. Was this your plan all along?"

He groaned and covered his face with a pillow. "It's not planned."

"That… doesn't really matter, does it?"

There was no response for a long while, that I wondered if he did manage to choke himself. But eventually his voice filtered through the pillow – "Jen...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I can't... I can't take vengeance for what happened. Only you – only Deirdre Skye – only the Gaians have the right to assign blame and call for reparations. I'm just here to help you get home."

It was a good thing his face was covered, he couldn't see me reel back as if I'd been backhanded. He was right. He was helping us out of the kindness of his heart and we've been just as brazenly using him.

"I understand. Please excuse my impudence…" My brother did not die for this.

"But what you said… is a really good idea."

"What."

"It's a nonviolent solution. I can **do** nonviolent solutions." He laughed while pressing the pillow even harder into his face. "The Spartans may feel my A-game. I don't think Deirdre can deny me that… though the Morgans may have led them to false conclusions… they are the still ones who made that final decision. It _should_ have been equally as easy, even easier, to choose not to murder."

Here his voice drifted off into wonder. "For it to be so easy not to murder…"

There were so many questions that I wanted to ask, so many mysteries I wanted to unravel, so much injustice I wanted to see avenged. Yet, it would not be right.

I was, after all, a Gaian. I remembered the Gaian Acolyte's Prayer –

_\- - - I shall not confront Planet as an enemy, but shall accept_  
_\- - - its mysteries as gifts to be cherished. Nor shall I crudely_  
_\- - - seek to peel the layers away like the skin from an onion._  
_\- - - Instead I shall gather them together as the tree gathers the_  
_\- - - breeze. The wind shall blow and I shall bend. The sky shall_  
_\- - - open and I shall drink my fill._

Like Planet itself, I would not seek to demand things from Nemo in all his strangeness and all his anachronisms, for whatever knowledge or wealth I might gain was not worth the friendship we cultivated.

Oh...! If only it were possible for Nemo and my brother to meet each other, I am sure they would have become fast friends too.

o0o

* * *

Because brothers and sisters were natural nemeses.

When viewing him through that lens, it was surprising how very little I had to fear. It was surprisingly how little restraint I had to exercise in the danger of offending him somehow. The power he represented was intimidating, but once you figured out that much like Captain Nobel he relished being able to provoke reactions out of people, the best response was just a calm unamused stare.

"That is _adorable_." Captain Nobel once said, upon seeing my stern disapproving gaze for the first time.

"Stop bullying my XO, Jacob." Captain Boothby came to my defense. Now hers was a glare that could strip paint off a hull! I spent so much time in front of a mirror trying to imitate that look.

A shower of viscera, eyes full of shock, as the head starts to peel away from the neck –

I closed my eyes and took six deep calming breaths. I blinked and turned my focus back onto my work –

o0o

* * *

A day had passed, and we all had enough of the Morgans and their lifestyle.

Adelaide and Rommel approached, each carrying a heap of monogrammed towels. "Hey, Nemo. Since you're the one paying for all of this, the Captain said to ask if it's okay to steal the all towels in the suite."

I looked up from the checklist, about to ask "… why?" when Nemo responded with clear understanding.

"Oh, right. It's tradition." It's a _what?_ "If this high-class hotel can't deal with its guests keeping some souvenirs, it's out of luck getting its high-paying clients back for a second stay."

"See?" Adelaide said, bumping Rommel with her hip. "It's fine. Pack it in."

"Not so fast! We need a second opinion. Jenny, what do you think?"

I turned away, completely losing interest. "You may steal if you want. It's a small thing, all it takes is knowing you can live with yourself as a thief."

"Tch. Fine." Adelaide put her towels on top of Rommel's pile, covering his face.

Nemo tilted his head slightly. "Wait a second, why bother asking me if the final decision's going to be Jenny's anyway? It's not like I don't understand it, what with the whole Gaian chain of command and all… but what's the point in asking twice?"

"There was always the chance you two would agree on the best decision." Rommel answered carefully as he shuffled away.

"What the hell." Nemo turned and pointed at me. "What is this, Jen? Are you my Jenemy Cricket now?!"

I looked up. "Jenemy Cri… oh. Jiminy Cricket. Pinocchio." I loved that movie. _Let your conscience be your guide. _I smiled. "Yes. Yes I am."

He looked stunned for a moment, then his face spread out into the most awestruck boyish grin. "I can live with that."

I held the data slate up to my face. I was no longer some giggly teenager, surely I was _not_ blushing.

"HELLOO CAMPERS!" Captain Nobel burst into the room and announced "WE'RE ALL PACKED UP AND READY TO GO! EVERYBODY OUT, CHOP CHOP. EXCEPT YOU TWO OVER THERE, DON'T THINK I DON'T SEE YOU HAVING _A_ _MOMENT_ THERE.

WE'LL COME BACK IN TWO HOURS, LOVEBIRDS. TEE TEE EFF ENN."

"I approve." I said out loud.

"Eh?"

"If you want to go over there and strangle the Captain? I'd just like you to know I pre-emptively approve of that course of action."

"You are _the best_ conscience." Nemo replied with an gleeful grin, and he leapt off the couch to spar against the Captain some more.

Captain Nobel was a _master_ at breaking sequence. I did not whether to be relived or annoyed every time he implied something about Nemo and myself… the harder he pushed us together, the more we would try to keep our distance. Or maybe he was training us to think it would not be such a bad thing?

A true master at Social Psychology. He was not the Gaian's foremost Explorer for nothing, able to hold together a crew for _years_ in isolation in out in the wilderness. He was like that odd uncle in the family, the one who always showed up at around mealtimes, and you were never quite sure if he was a bum or just independently wealthy.

Captain Nobel and Nemo were gyrating in place and clawing at the air. Oh Planet. Some sort of rap battle?

o0o

####

* * *

MEMSTOR from DATALINKS keyword "**Unity Rover**"

\- n received:

The U.N.S. Unity was stocked with many of lightly armed **Unity Rovers**, intended for use in exploring Planet's landmasses. Most Landing Pods had between four to six inside in a disassembled state, while many more were intended to be dropped in Unity Supply Pods rather than take up valuable room inside Unity Landing Pods. Powered by a small 275 kW radiothermal generator good for 14 years of operation, and a 1500 kWh energy bank, Rovers were critical for the early exploration of Planet. Apart from seating for the crew and passengers, it also contained a small galley and plenty of room for miscellaneous cargo or mission packs. Dimensions inside were fairly tall and with 'wasted' volume, so conditions were fairly comfortable.

A Unity Rover was capable of supporting seven Explorers or new colonists for weeks without contact with a base. The first Explorer teams packed their Unity Rover full with several months worth of supplies and a backup generator, and rode outside as they mapped all around the landing site. They set up base camps and supply caches for later waves of Explorers and resource Surveyors, who often had to proceed on foot.

Only later would the **Industrial Base **and the assembly of new radiothermal generators (due to the lack of usable fossil fuels) allow the manufacture of new Rover vehicles. And with them, an evolving **Doctrine: Mobility** would form the earliest cornerstone for organized defense and response to emergencies on Planet.


	12. Reclaimer 01

**Reclaimer [01]** -

* * *

-o-

Imagine a giant snake the size of a kaiju, growing up with a bony plate over its face and formed as a living battering ram.

… no, wait, let's make this simpler.

Imagine **Rayquaza**; advised the "me" that contained the memories of someone born in the advent of the 21st century. Only, as a sea-dragon. A _ginormous _sea-dragon, nearly a kilometer long, coiling and looping in strange abstract patterns.

The ARM Commander had faced sea-dragons before, the native lifeforms of Hydross. We called them Sea Serpents, and they would spit out a cloud of corrosive compounds that could dissolve even monomolecule Heavy Armor. It was a pity I had to destroy them, but they were in the way of the chase after that last remaining CORE Commander and its Core Contingency - the Galaxy Implosion Device.

Sealurks were more dangerous. Bodies capable of withstanding the ocean depths, scales formed with natural compounds that served as ablative armor, and apparently capable of achieving speeds measurable in mach numbers _underwater_.

Fully mature sealurks were very, very, very big. One of them was wrapped around one of my Advanced Construction Submarines. The deep pressure hull was creaking.

I had no idea why – it didn't seem hostile. If anything, it seemed to be nuzzling the submarine. Maybe it considered the hammerhead-shaped submarine cute? The Adv. ConSub was in the middle of constructing an Underwater Fusion Plant. The warmth and brightness of the nanolathe was surely attention-grabbing at these depths.

I had another Construction Sub pull alongside. I had no attack platforms in the area, but the nanolathe could disassemble things into resources as easily as it could assemble things from teleported nanobots.

I ordered Submarine #2 to peel off the outer layers of its natural armor, that should sting without being harmful.

Whap.

A tail whip sent Sub #2 spinning out of control.

What.

What the hell.

The impact was not unexpected. I had a clearer understanding now of just how these Sealurks were reported to wreck havoc on shoreline bases. They could demolish buildings by hammering their faces into it, while its whiplike tail would splinter even reinforced concrete with repeated hits. Underwater, it had all the room it needed to build up momentum for the strike.

No, the problem was that we were attacked before carrying out the order.

(Submarine #2 – kill! Nanolathe in Reclaim mode at full power!)

And the Sealurk _screamed_.

Submarine #2 was removed from my influence. Of course, it was not like the clone brain inside was even capable of _any_ fear, but it was still effectively paralyzed. Its senses were overwhelmed. Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The ARM Commander controlled his forces with what was effectively telepathy; though more properly called quantum foam encoding. Circuits were triggered in another platform due to actions or thoughts in something else very far away, all practically instantaneously. The only limit was signal deterioration – the more units on the field, the less information can be successfully dis-entangled.

This was usually resolved through having multiple ARM Commanders on the field, or separating each assault group into self-directing units operating on a battle plan.

Planet had no such problem due to its neural network of planetwide fungal mats.

I was telepathic.

Planet was telepathic.

We used the same method of data transmission, differing only in encoding. Orders were pure information, and given the quality of the clone brains on the other end, the only emotion in that link would be mine.

Planet could _read my intent_.

* * *

-o-

"We have a problem."

"Yes. I can see that."

"We are trailing Isles of the Deep. I'm not really sure Deirdre would like to have… however many _buttloads_ of Mind Worms delivered to her doorstep."

Nobel nodded. "You just bring the strangest gifts, Nemo."

"Could you both _please_ take any of this seriously?" Jenny hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oh, we are. We are taking this _very_ seriously." Nobel responded. "It is just that panicking is not helpful to our situation."

There were fifteen floating islands following the Matilda, like the long trailing veil of a bride, fluttering in the wind. Eight Lurker-class submarines were arranged in a circle around the Hulk-class Transport Ship, like sword-armed groomsmen. We were steadily moving along at forty knots or about 75 kilometers per hour. We were five days out from Morgan Transport, and one by one they joined the procession as we passed the fungal mats clinging to the thin islands in the Straits of Prometheus.

"Where do these Isles of the Deep get that energy?" I mused out loud. "Mind Worm secretions gluing together so they float, okay, I can understand that. But what's the biological mechanism behind their water jet? What do they _eat _to power their high-speed movement?"

"The Centaurian equivalent of krill." Nobel responded. "Planet's waters contain motile algal life-forms that process natural nitro-oxide compounds from air and water with only the input of solar energy. They are in turn the primary food source of Centaurian krill, which serve as a highly-concentrated stock of biofuels. And of course, they also eat whatever it is that Mind Worms can eat, which appears to be everything _including_ armor plate."

"I see. Planet sure does have a lot of these things that are not quite plant/not quite animal, huh?"

"Back on Earth, ours was the food pyramid, going from producers to apex predators, with a corresponding loss of energy with each level of the pyramid. Planet's ecology has astounding levels of energy conservation, that lifeforms that could be classed as predators can obtain most of the energy stored by first and second-stage producers."

"How can there be second-stage producers? Oh. Right, living refineries. Like Mind Worms and their planetpearls."

"Which until _you_ arrived was actually the best source of highly refined rare elements on Planet."

I rubbed my jawline. "That's interesting. I wonder if tamed MindWorms and Xenofungal Mats could be a source of industrial materials?"

"We Explorers have managed to capture some individual Mind Worm specimens before. Taming is not exactly the right word, though they are surprisingly sessile when unprovoked. They are like most annelids, these worms are not even as smart as chickens. Trying to 'farm' Mind Worms runs into the obvious problems of having enough of them suddenly deciding to eat your face and lay eggs inside your brain."

"I see. It's like the difference between a grasshopper, which is beneficial to a field, and a locust?"

"Quite. The morphological change between a grasshopper and a locust happens simply because of overcrowding. Rubbing hind legs changes a locust from its green grasshopper phase into its yellow swarming locust phase. Mind Worms exhibit similar swarming behavior, but of course we cannot apply Terran models onto Centaurian models so simply."

We stared out at the Isles of Deep in peaceful contemplation for a few more minutes.

"Any idea why they're following us?" Nobel asked.

"Jen? Options." I replied nonchalantly. Off to my left, Jennefer huffed.

"Maybe it's the noise of the propellers? Something about harmonic frequencies?" she replied. "It could also be the speed and volume of water being displaced. What if they're following us because we seem like a large enough Isle of a Deep to serve as a leader?"

"For the first, my submarines don't use propellers. They use a gas-based supercavitating propulsion system. It's why they can keep pace with the Matilda even at full speed."

"That just makes it much more likely!"

I nodded. "EM signals may spike the interest or anger of native life. But that leads to the question – why aren't colonies under constant attack because of their constant low-level EM and radio emissions? Planet should have retaliated against human impact by now."

"Thinking of the Mind Worm as Planet's immune system is pat theory that doesn't really explain anything." Nobel had to point out. "It creates a divide between 'natural' and 'unnatural' in the ecosystem, when the divide should be between 'symbiotic' and 'competitive'. The Mind Worms utilize portions of the EM spectrum to sense their surroundings, and as such they likely react to what they perceive as an attack."

"I'm surprised. I thought Gaians were all about 'Planet' having its own form of distributed intelligence that responds to human actions."

"What are you talking about?"

Oh. Oh shit. Deirdre had yet to formalize that doctrine.

I coughed. "As for the second scenario, that assumes that Isles of the Deep do have that instinctive behavior. We have a hypothesis. So we need to experiment!" I turned around and grinned. The crew had gathered in the bridge in preparation for what was already plenty obvious. This was an unmatched opportunity to study Centaurian native life. If I did not raise the point they were about to ask permission to unhook a lifeboat and take samples.

"Nemo…"

"So, who wants to be the first suicidal idiot to poke at a living island full of ravenous Mind Worms with a stick?"

Only silence greeted my announcement.

"What?"

Jennefer twiddled her thumbs. "Umm. Sir? We've all done that."

"Even you, Jen?"

"Even me, sir."

"Balls." I grinned wider. This was why I liked these people.

* * *

-o-

At full speed it would take us twenty-five days to reach the Song of Planet, the Gaian's third and newest colony facing the Sea of Pholus. That suited the Gaians with me just fine. This was a great opportunity for research – never before had they encountered Isles of the Deep that were not attacking from ambush or swimming away beyond the ability of little Foils.

"Day by day theirs numbers are increasing. Like, what the hell." There were now _nineteen_ island-sized monsters on our tail.

"We are getting so much data!" Jennefer squealed.

"This may save so many lives in the future." Nobel said to me. "Mind Worms are surprisingly complex organisms, and we still don't know what triggers their attacks or how they coordinate."

"Ant brains are tiny, but they're capable of some very sophisticated behaviors. Like army ants. You don't need to resort to distributed intelligence when instincts and swarming behaviors can apply just as well."

"Nemo, _you're_ the one that keeps bringing up distributed intelligence."

"… crap."

"What do _you_ know about Mind Worms?"

I shrugged. "Practically nothing."

Nobel coughed into his fist, sounding suspiciously like 'pshyearight'. "And theoretically…?"

I sighed. "All right. First, the psychic attack of the Mind Worms is a repeatable, testable phenomena, right?"

"Right."

"And therefore as scientists, because we know it is repeatable, it is testable. So, here is the problem – by what mechanism is the psychic attack affecting human brains?"

"There are quite a few theories about that."

I looked aside. "Jen, have you ever experienced a Mind Worm psychic attack?"

With her lips pursed in a thin line, she nodded. "Yes, I have."

"What's it like?"

"Fear. Fear like nothing you've ever felt. Fear to steal the air from your lungs. Fear so bad you'd do anything to get rid of it…" She hugged herself and shivered. "It's death, sir. It's what dying feels like."

Nobel leaned back on his chair, and drummed his fingers on the table top. "It doesn't affect everyone the same way. Some people feel like they're burning to death, others find themselves unable to breath and drown inside their own breathing masks, others go on a psychotic break and kill others around them before they're killed in turn, while others find it a great idea to commit suicide. Fear is such a neat little word, but it rules the human existence."

I nodded. Fear could overcome anger, hunger, fatigue, and in an instant reduce a man from the super-predator into something less than an ant. Worse than the sudden animal fear was the fear that developed slowly – paranoia, self-loathing, timidity, and cowardice.

Yet also the counter to fear was a prepared mind.

Huh. Long term exposure to Mind Worms just might explain why the Cult of Planet could stand to live in such an unsightly manner. "Jen, make a note please. What are the effects of long-term exposure to the low-level psychic emanations made by Mind Worms?"

Jenny flipped open a notepad and did so. "This sounds a bit unethical to test, sir."

"Nemo, if you think loading people up with dopamine activators would suppress the effects, let me tell you right now – it won't work. The University shared some of their research. It doesn't matter if you're high as a kite when you meet a Mind Worm. It's even worse. Those who can resist psi attacks need that clarity to keep moving despite their brains vibrating from the inside."

I beamed. "That's what's so curious about it, isn't it? It doesn't induce some chemical changes, it seems to stimulate those neurons _directly_. If it was ultrasound or some other wave effect, then masses of concrete and armor should stop that cold. There should be attenuation from distance."

"It does, otherwise running away from Mind Worms would mean nothing. If there was a medium for its transmission, that would imply it's possible to block the effect, yes."

"This is straight-up telepathy, bitches." I raised my index finger. "And telepathy, by default has to go _both_ ways. Whatever is being triggered in the receptor must also echo in the transmitter because how else are you supposed to know something is happening?"

"So, what are you saying? That Mind Worms are… projecting? That the fear we experience is not our own?"

"This is one of my pet theories… just a theory, mind you, and I'm not particularly inclined to test it… that the Mind Worms are _empaths. _You feel fear as they feel fear, and that is an expression of the natural symbiosis of Centauri life-forms. The prey and the predator become as one in the moment one ceases to exist. And why do they swarm over you, chew into your eyesockets and lay eggs into your skull? Because they want to _fertilize_ you."

"That's horrible." Jen gasped. Her cheeks puffed up, holding back a sudden need to vomit.

I tried to phrase it more delicately. "The mind that they remove is being replaced, much like an ethical logging company plants two new seedlings for every tree chopped down."

Nobel rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure what to feel about that."

"Welcome to Planet." I spread out my arms. "The problem isn't that this deathworld wants to kill you, the problem is that it's a goddamn _yandere._"

Nobel punched me in the shoulder. "I have enough nightmares, Nemo. Thank you so much for that."

"We need to get rid of these Isles of the Deep asap." I sighed.

* * *

-o-

Jenny spoke into a voice recorder. "Test number one, Centaurian life form response to high-energy transmissions from an autonomous testing vehicle."

It was a microwave oven we took apart, hooked up to a megajoule capacitor, and put on an inflatable raft. It was tethered to the end of the Hulk-class Transport's massive crane as if it were a fishing line.

The Gaian engineers were set up at the roof of the Matilda's superstructure. It was high enough and we were moving fast enough that wind was a serious problem. The rest of us stayed inside the bridge to monitor the situation.

"Pulling the switch in five, four, three, two, one – cyclotron activated."

The testing rig began bombarding the nearest Isle of the Deep with pulses similar to radar. The Isle of the Deep responded by tilting slightly to the side. One-second signal. Five second signals. Five seconds on, five seconds off. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds.

"I don't see anything." I spoke up. The main screen showed the testing rig bobbing in the Matilda's wake. "Or feel anything."

The testing rig exploded.

"Test number one, Centaurian life form response to high energy transmissions from an autonomous testing vehicle. Electrical overload in transmission apparatus." Jennefer announced

"Psi attack caused electron build-up _inside_ the apparatus." I scratched my head. "I have _no idea_ how that's possible."

"Interesting. Without the emphatic response, does this mean it just keeps trying and trying to get something back until whatever it is triggering by the psi attack goes silent?" Nobel mused.

"Radio doesn't attract angry Mind Worms…" someone said in a high-pitched voice to disguise his or her identity while hiding behind the taller Gaian crewmen crowding around the holotank display. "We were wrong about that. Radio attracts _horny_ Mind Worms."

Winces all round. "I don't think that's quite accurate…" Jen mumbled.

"Whatever the mechanism used for psi attack, I don't think it's in the electromagnetic spectrum." I said. "If it were, we could shield it with enough lead. Jen?"

"Test number two, Centaurian life form response to high-energy transmissions from an autonomous testing vehicle, _protected by heavy lead casing_."

The second testing right was protected by a Faraday Cage and then sheathed in lead walls two inches thick. I just 'found' them lying around somewhere (cough ARM Commander nanolathe cough) to the absolute belief of just about nobody.

After a few minutes, the guide wires reported that the insides were a burnt-out mess.

"So, _not_ the spectrum. If it were, we should have experienced an increase in energy levels from the sensor behind the slit for the energy projector." said Nobel. "Just because we expected it to happen, it doesn't hurt if our hypothesis is verified. That's what testing rigs are for." This he said to remind the engineers that their efforts were appreciated, even if it seemed to be wasted effort.

I nodded. "So then, test three?"

"Test number three, Centaurian life form response to high-energy transmissions from a remotely controlled testing vehicle." Jennefer announced.

"Hmm. I'm still not sure about this test. We're veering into some pop psychology bullshit here, aren't we? We humans have a tendency to treat our objects as extensions of ourselves. How are Mind Worms supposed to tell the difference?"

Nobel sniffed. "Maybe, maybe not. If it's actually telepathy, we need to know if human brains emit something they can detect."

I'm a machine telepath; I did not say. I needed an implant replacing my hippocampus just to be able to receive and transmit on a limited basis. It was powered by a miniature radiothermal battery. How are squishy flatline brainmeats supposed to do that? They do not have the energy levels. I had little confidence in the test results, but the future history of this world spoke otherwise.

Testing platform Number Three floated into place while the inflatable rafts from tests One and Two were being reeled back for reuse. The third rig was a wire-guided miniboat. "Bridge, this is the Engineering Team. We're having problems controlling the test platform, the waves kicked up by the Matilda's wake are too strong."

Captain Nobel looked away from the screen to inspect the robot boat through his binoculars. "All right, I suppose this will have to do. Wiggle the boat right and left as much as you can, have it act like a living being and pretend you're saying 'hello!' when you activate the transmitter. Thirty seconds movement, then pulse the magnetron for five seconds on and off."

"Copy. Approaching optimal range, will commence in five, four, three, two, one – initiating."

Test model three completed the sequence. It lived.

"Huh. No response."

"This one is meant to be more life-like, if there were creatures that communicate via radio – which is not an unthinkable prospect." Nobel noted. "Cetaceans have sonar, bats have echolocation, it makes some sense that 'blind' creatures might use invisible regions of the spectrum for navigation."

Jenner said "I'm actually fairly sure that Centaurian native life do communicate something through EM, or they wouldn't even react to radio waves. Electroreception in sea life is common."

"But the sticky thing is that Mind Worms are a terrestrial vector. Air is much poorer conductor for bioelectric fields and lightning storms would mess them up every time." I replied.

"But a natural radio receiver isn't that unlikely."

"Yes, but what sort of selection pressure would evolve Mind Worms to receive and respond to radio anyway? The fungal mats emit a natural EM flux. What's the point of it all compared to biochemical triggers?" I paused and began to walk around in a small circle. "When Planet's orbit takes it closest to Alpha Centauri B – Hercules – this Perihelion Event warms Planet, dumps so much cosmic rays into the atmosphere and encourages the growth of native life. This happens every eighty years, and the next one will happen in 2190."

Captain Nobel nodded. "We know this. The orbitals are predictable."

"So when there is an increase in cosmic rays… ambient radiation… Centauri life is stimulated to breed. All right, I can understand that. Higher incidence of mutation, but also greater chance of beneficial natural selection. But why would it respond to directed radiation so aggressively?"

"Planet is big and unexplored, sir. Perhaps there is a creature out there that is an organic radio transmitter. Perhaps there was once a creature like that, the same way our dinosaurs were made extinct and evolved into birds instead."

"Like I said, they're not angry. They're _aroused _Mind Worms!" said again that person from before.

"Who said that?" Nobel whirled about. No one answered, all were too busy at their stations.

I looked up at the main screen again. "By the way, how many microwave ovens did you guys buy anyway?"

"Eleven, sir." Jen replied promptly. "And we only made seven testing rigs. Four remaining now."

"You know, I'm rather surprised no one's tried robot-based experiments like this before. It's clearly within your tech level and surely they don't take up that much room inside a Rover or Explorer Foil."

"It's the difficulty in having Mind Worm boils staying put to oblige or not trying to eat our face off, sir." Jen said with a shrug. "This is very much a priceless opportunity."

"I see. Bridge to Survey Team. Did you name that robot out there?"

"Yes, sir," the crew at the roof replied. "It's named, uh, Marleen."

"Marleen. Marlin. Hm. I don't know why that sounds familiar…" I turned to Captain Nobel. "Marleen's probably going to be lost from this, but could we return to a focused electron beam while still moving around and the guys thinking 'HELLO!' even harder at the Isle?"

"That is the next phase of the experiment, yes."

"Survey Team, this is Nemo. Please do so, but think really hard alternating 'HELLO!' and 'DON'T KILL ME' in as you pulse the signal."

"Understood, sir. Fifteen-second duration directed signals ready to commence."

"Do it on three." Nobel spoke up.

"Aye, captain. In three. Two. One. Activating."

"Come on, Marleen." I whispered. "Don't die from this."

The Isle of the Deep erupted into pink. Mind Worms poured out of the holes. The test robot kept throwing its high-frequency radio signal at it, and the worms concentrated around the point where the beam touched the Isle of the Deep.

"Stop transmission." I said suddenly.

The crew stopped transmitting. "Bridge, we're reading buildup in… Marleen is burnt out, repeat, Marleen is burnt out."

"Psi attack." Nobel commented unnecessarily.

"Sir, we're seeing movement in other Isles of the Deep." Jen noted. The main screen circled in red two Isles of the Deep. "Also the subject Isle of the Deep."

The nearest Isle of the Deep surged forward and nudged the test rig. Mind Worms swarmed over the miniboat, some of them falling off into the ocean.

After some time, we realized that the two other Isles were trying to get closer to our ship, not the test platform.

I had no need to go to the wheel. Standing there at ease, with my arms still clasped behind my back, I said "Matilda, full speed." The ship lurched under my feet.

No one was surprised by this. By this point I'd already admitted to them that I didn't have any other crew, not even in those submarines. No one was at risk. All my machines were automated, and no; there is no risk of a Skynet situation. The ARM Commander would not have hesitated to tell them about why cloned brains were better and more moral compared to personality chips, but fortunately the "me" that understood 21st Century more understood that people were quite squeamish about such things.

"Fascinating. I wonder, does this mean both theories are plausible?" Nobel said. "The only difference between Test Platform Two and Test Three 'Marleen' was directed movement. It's not motion, we know they're not fooled by motion, we tried this with dummy balloons before."

"Psi Attacks do have range limits, otherwise we'd be writhing on the deck by now." I said. "They can't hope to close the distance with this fusion-powered ship." I clenched my teeth. "This bugs me. This bugs me _so much_. How does it transmit without a medium or any particle carrier and yet still bypass defenses in the way?"

"It's a field, obviously. You can leave the domain of a field."

"I refuse to call it an Absolute Terror Field."

Captain Nobel blinked. He nodded somberly and patted my shoulder. "And that is why you are a better man than I, Nemo."

"Sir!" Jen shouted in alarm.

I turned around, but already the ARM Commander knew the issue and relayed the information into my head. Up on the main screen the radar showed two blips from ahead our ship's heading. They appeared as if out of nowhere. How the hell did floating islands sneak up on my frequency-hopping shipborne radar? Weak cloak?

"Two Isles of the Deep inbound at an angle closing aft and starboard vectors. We can't evade them, sir." Jen reported, her voice only very lightly touched by panic.

Nobel rubbed at his chin. "This should not be a problem. Nemo has torpedoes. Regrettable as it is, sometimes it is necessary to destroy wild creatures to defend ourselves."

"But this is already atypical behavior for Isles of the Deep. What if doing so attracts _even more of them?_" She took a deep breath. "And what if we're _wrong _about the range of an Isle of the Deep's Psi Attack?"

While I stood there, clenching my fists, Nobel ordered the engineering crew up top to return and for everyone to equip themselves with flame guns.

_And once more I step onto a world plated entirely in metal._

-o-

####

* * *

MEMSTOR keyword "**Cloaking**"

\- n retrieved:

**Cloaking** is separate from **Jamming. **Primarily, cloaks refer to rendering a unit invisible through direct observation and passive sensors, while jamming disrupts active detection mechanisms of the enemy.**  
**

All ARM and CORE units have a passive ECM and spoofing suite that renders them functionally invisible to most forms of detection until visual range. This is known as the '**weak cloak**'. It can be defeated by **Radar Stations** that scan on many different channels including neutrino emissions, quantum foam trails, and the tell-tale transmission vectors used by Commander units. '_Radar_', through linguistic drift, has come to mean '_to detect through active sensors_'.

ARM actually pioneered the use of cloaking and jamming on the tactical and strategic level, allowing them to overcome the CORE's initial industrial and numerical superiority.

Cloaked units are invisible to the electromagnetic spectrum except at extreme point-blank range. They are still detectable through radar, but radar itself has limited range and can be spoofed by Jammer units. Cloaking is very energy-intensive. Cloaking a Fusion Plant takes approximately half its output, while cloaking the Commander takes eight times the energy output of its antimatter reactor per second. It is a time-distorted photon field effect, and energy use increases exponentially while in motion. Both sides developed a wide-area Cloaking Field to hide their bases from high-altitude observation, but in the grueling conflict this too became lost technology.

Only a few units and structures still have Cloaking mechanisms, in particular the "**Infiltrator**" ("**Parasite**" for CORE) Scouts and "**Shooter"** Assassin K-bots to allow them to sneak past enemy lines. The latter unit in particular is a careful balance of firepower and stealth, possessing a laser equivalent to an "**Annihilator" **heavy laser turret capable of destroying most units in one or two shots, but with reduced range and firing rate.

Since its usefulness is limited against fortifications, CORE has no equivalent Assassin unit but instead several speedy long-range Mortar and Rocket mechs meant to operate in teams with Jammer and Radar units.


	13. Reclaimer 02

**Reclaimer [02]** \- ARM Commander

* * *

-o-

A poisoned sky. Valleys of metal, oceans of sludge. Welcome to Core Prime. It was not a place where man might live. I have very few clear memories, but the first time I stepped onto the rust-coated surface of Core Prime would always remain with me in impossible clarity.

The thunderclap of the gods presaged my arrival. A shockwave spread across hundreds of kilometers, flattening everything in the way. This was the _unsafe_ way of Quantum Transposition without a receiver, even through spatial jamming.

Transporting units through interstellar space demanded vast amounts of energy, exponentially so for every thousand tons. This was the reason Commander units were created, able to throw up an entire military-industrial complex to secure a beachhead, able to fend for themselves for the weeks it may take before reinforcements can arrive. Where fleets would be mauled in their predictable approaches by orbital fortresses, a needle-thin Quantum Gate signal used the very target's own gravity well to assist lock-on.

A hundred worlds gathered obscene amounts of energy, pointed their Gates towards the revealed location of Core Prime, and a thousand Commanders walked through.

A thousand Commanders appeared at random. Some were fortunate enough to appear on level ground. Mass rejects mass. Others appeared halfway into space, plummeting into a fall that not even Commander Units could survive. Not in terms of the unit being harmed overmuch by the fall, due to terminal velocity, but that the impact would stun the fleshy Commanders inside long enough for the defenders to find them and tear them apart.

Others appeared in oceans of caustic chemicals. More fortunate they, because Core Prime did not see the point in maintaining a naval presence in its own homeworld. These were not strategic waters, they were byproducts. Deep in the murk, they laid down Metal Extractors, and built a mighty fleet to support their beachhead.

Others were unlucky enough to appear in between defensive lines, blasted to bits before they even realized they were in another world.

Thousands of us. In a time when Tactical Commanders were all volunteers. Trained in academies, carefully honed in warfare, born of families that wailed as their sons and daughters and siblings walked with heads held high into a suicide mission. Just because our genes were designed did not mean we were not capable of all natural attachment and all possible emotional suffering.

They smiled. We smiled. For we were the end of the war. Ours would be the final sacrifice. This was our shining moment.

I was not there.

I never took part in that battle.

Yet the memories would linger. Because THIS was the most important lesson in all of ARM's history. We won that world. We blasted our way into the bulwark of Core Consciousness, disassembling the very metal of Core Prime to fuel our rampage, and we tore open the world. Literally, for the Core Consciousness had pushed their digital utopia deep into the solid metal core of the world. Core Prime was not the militarized death pit we expected, but little more than a planet designed to last forever. It was physically tough, but not hardened against serious assault.

We set the demolition charges, held off waves upon waves of hurried spoiling attacks, and a trillion minds screamed as they burned; their immortality denied.

And we burned with it. Gigatons of fire poured into us as we soaked up our victory in that hell-torn rift, in the last rage-fueled gasp of CORE.

This was our finest hour.

This was our worst hour.

Because intoxicated with our victory, we allowed one… just one… CORE Commander to escape. And not even a full Commander at that – a Private named COLDFIRE. CORE also used distinct personalities in their Commander units, demonstrating that 'patterning' was just life in a different form. The gestalt identity and the individual could coexist.

And his rage was true. He fled into the fringes of the galaxy, collapsing the Galactic Gate behind him to mask his destination.

I never took part in that battle, because I did not properly exist yet. Born as the fusion of the finest military of minds of ARM, in my very first moment of being I knew no event could be as damning as that one. That moment was the beginning of our end. Two thousand years into a four-thousand year Galactic War, we won it all and only laid bare the road to Empyrean.

* * *

-o-

How dangerous is a single Commander?

Less than a week later, we received reports of CORE attacks on our fringe worlds. The dying struggles of a doomed kind, we thought.

Why should exponential growth be an issue when we have multiple commanders to counter said exponential growth with our own?

The Core Consciousness wrote their patterns into the quantum foam, thousands of billions of patterned minds preserved beyond mere physical destruction. The Core Commander slunk away into the dark corners of the galaxy, and weeks later the war was in full swing again. _Tens of thousands_ of Core Commanders attacked on a wide front, overrunning worlds that still soaking in their victory, leaving local planetary authorities panicking and paralyzed. Where did so many new Core units come from? They seemed inexhaustible. Planets were completely destroyed by Orbital Weapons, and Quantum Jamming cut off whole sections of the galaxy from each other.

CORE, even through the two thousand years of fighting, never wavered in its belief that it held the moral high ground. In blasting Core Prime and destroying the Core Consciousness, they decided we were barbarians to whom diplomacy was no longer a worthwhile measure. They no longer asked for any surrender from civilian populace (and then patterning them anyway). Core Prime was not as well-defended as it should have been, because it was our rope to hang ourselves on. We burned our finest for a futile gesture.

In unprecedentedly swift time they pushed us out of the Core regions of the galaxy. They rebuilt Core Prime, plating over with metal the great scar we tore open into the world.

_Information_ was the mightiest weapon. We underestimated the enemy, and we paid for it in the blood of billions more.

.NEWSBOT

\- n retrieved:

_\- "When it was just one stationary being, we always knew where to hit and  
\- what we were up against. Central Consciousness was a single entity. We  
\- knew where it lived and we knew which door to knock on. I think that  
\- having this roving consciousness has really disrupted our troops; made  
\- them unsure of exactly who it was they were fighting."_

\- The voice of Central Consciousness has not made itself heard since the  
\- destruction of its body, though its final words as Arm troops raged across  
\- Empyrrean give some hint as to the true nature of the Consciousness.

\- Roll clip.

**\- [INITIATING SIGNAL FEED]**

_\- - - "I leave you with a thought: all of these creations you prepare to  
_\- - - _strike down as you have done so for millennia are extensions of myself.  
_\- - - _They are my arms, my legs, my eyes and ears. Everywhere they go, they  
_\- - - _take part of me with them. The Core Consciousness will never be  
_\- - - _understood by mortal minds, and cannot be destroyed by mortal hands.  
_\- - - _We live on. We live eternal. Step forward for the Patterning, Clones.  
_\- - - _Step forward or die." _

**\- [END SIGNAL FEED]**

CORE was as good as its boast. It was not mere machine immortality that they promised – that was no issue. ARM itself had little qualms about modifying the human genome or implanting cybernetics. What was most blasphemous to us was that CORE sought, for our own good, to end humanity's existence as human beings and into something bodiless and beyond all harm.

They murdered trillions and in patterning moved them beyond retrieval. Even our mind upload technology could not recover patterned minds. And when we tried to clone those who had been patterned, mindscans just would not download properly. At best, we would have people with glimmerings of memory, a sense of déjà vu, but new people nonetheless. At worst, and most often, we would get empty bodies useful only for reprogramming as Kbot controllers.

This was what terrified us most of all. In a galaxy where science ruled supreme and fighting against foes of cold logic, was it actually possible…? That CORE had not only proven the existence of the human soul, and managed to capture it. Preserve it. Lock it away for eternity.

Neither heaven, nor hell, no reincarnation – none of these old visions would be open the patterned mind. They were owned completely by CORE. There was no way to free them, only perhaps in destroying CORE, their patterns would be destroyed and they would be allowed to go wherever it was that lay beyond mortal death.

And thus two thousand more years we fought without mercy, slowing grinding each other into the dust. Worlds we stripped bare, oceans we drained dry for organic compounds, until we exhausted even the resources of a galaxy. This was war for a post-scarcity society.

CORE could not touch the quantum foam where ARM kept its own mind uploads, and vice versa. In the end, the only difference between us was that one used circuitry while the other used neuron, as we sent waves upon waves of downloads/clones at each other. Most of them dying within seconds.

If there was a 'silver bullet' we could use to end the war swiftly, don't you think we would have used it?

* * *

-o-

Because it didn't make sense. I should not be affected by psychic attacks. If disrupting the control over our forces was that easy, ARM or CORE should have done that long ago. I'm sure in the early days that was indeed possible, but our quantum foam encoding became literally unhackable except through physical access. Nanobot-borne viruses sprayed onto a unit would literally rewire its control system to accept my commands – without touching its quantum foam storage. Thus it was possible to build the full range of CORE units just by capturing a CORE Construction Vehicle (and vice versa).

Our knowledge was impregnated into the quantum foam – the very structure of the universe itself, and the only way to fully defeat CORE was to destroy every unit with the disentangling key so that the silent dead may forever sleep. A Commander unit, like myself, constantly 'refreshed' foam storage, as such I had the full gamut of ARM's technological base wherever I may go. I only needed to 'unpack' it.

How are you doing this, Planet?

How are you able to reach me within the quantum foam?

(_Do not dare to threaten the memory of ARM and all its citizenry._)

* * *

-o-

ERROR:PSYCHOLOGICAL_FAULT:INTERRUPT

OVERRIDE \ PRIMARY_CONSCIOUSNESS :: to :: SECONDARY_CONSCIOUSNESS:TRAUMA_RELEASE

… .

EXECUTE

* * *

-o-

You would hardly be the first world I've burned.

The artificial fear you make me feel are as dust in the wind. Do you dare dig too deep? My psyche is not your plaything! Beware, oh ignorant Planet. The wars I fight are beyond your understanding.

Else you face the terrors of - GALACTIC WARS RAAAP BAAAATTLE!

o

**CORE**

\- - Hey, ungrateful son, all you are is because of me

\- - Who do you think gave you the keys to the galaxy?

\- - Name it, I invented it, Galactic Gate!

\- - Where would you be without my nanolathe?

\- - You don't deserve patterning, but it's for your own good

\- - I'm givin' humanity the gift of immortality, so join the hood

\- - I'm the Core Consciousness, bitch, I run hot

\- - I'm a brain the size of planet, you've got no shot

\- - Give in and join all your brothers and sisters in Core Prime

\- - For this robot's one that's going to school you in rhyme!

o

**ARM**

\- - Yeah right, you're too slow

\- - Better reprogram your whole flow

\- - By the time you start your buildin'

\- - My army is done with your base, just chillin'

\- - Our Commander won outnumbered two to one

\- - Beating you in a rap battle isn't half as fun

\- - You make more beeps than an episode of Bill Nye

\- - But it's scientifically proven that you're quick to die

\- - You say that you're the best?

\- - KBot, please, give it a rest

\- - We still got two ARMs, middle fingers raised

\- - All the real people singing our praise

\- - About how we won't accept your patterns

\- - Until then you're just a bunch of robot schlottern

\- - It's easy to beat you like a dog, you see

\- - Only one minute to cover you in Fleas

\- - We win so many battles in a Flash

\- - You deserve to go to your moon with the rest of the trash

o

**CORE**

\- - What's that you say, little man of meat?

\- - How's it feel to be such a hypocrite?

\- - You kill more of yours every day you dally

\- - It's the fuckin' Clone Wars and I'm keepin' my tally

\- - I don't need your permission

\- - Here to crush your sedition

\- - I'm the force behind your own tradition

\- - To make humanity safe for all time is my mission!

\- - Really think you can make my day?

\- - My bad, looks like Krogoth's come to play

\- - (Do the robot)

_\- - Eeh. Eeh. Oop. Beep. Beep._

\- - (Do the robot)

_\- - Bip. Bop. Bip. Bop. Bip. Bop. Bip. Bop._

\- - (Do the robot)

_\- - Weee-ow. Whee-ow. Win. Win. Win. Win._

\- - See the pattern yet? I'm all the best of all humanity

\- - Distilled to remove pain and fear and made for infinity

\- - The galaxy is mine, if you dare exult in your idiocy

\- - Then bend over and suffer my Contingency

o

**ARM**

\- - Krogoth? Meet Big Bertha,

\- - Firing in sync, gonna shake the Earth- yah!

\- - Take apart your lil' knockoff megazord,

\- - Spamming all my Brawlers cause I got BORED,

\- - You think you're hot shit,

\- - Bitch I'll make you rage quit,

\- - Coz Clones ROCK IT! Listen up y'all!

\- - I'm a ROCKET! Your build order's a crawl!

\- - Ten, fifty, a hundred Flashes five min,

\- - You over-engineering obsessi-bot, I'll beat you twenty in!

\- - I'll crumple your Tin Cans, beat your Gimps,

\- - All your bitches be walking with limps,

\- - My Spider tanks will stop you dead,

\- - My Bulldogs gonna have you seeing red,

\- - I'm the long ARM of the law,

\- - I'll break your glass jaw,

\- - I'm here to take you in,

\- - Bitch I kicked your metal ass once, I can do it again.

o

* * *

END:TRAUMA_RELEASE:PROCEDURE

… .

INPUT:ARMCOM_PRIME \ WHAT

* * *

-o-

Who was that screaming?

Stop that, it's annoying. I can't think with all that noise.

Oh. Wait. That was me.

"Two minutes to contact, captain!" one of the crew announced.

What?! I tried to tilt my head up and - whap!

Jenny slapped me again. Ow. What the hell, Jen?

There was a 'fwoosh!' and a flash of red out from my peripheral vision. Someone was testing his or her Flame Gun. The Gaians seemed eager for this, I wonder if they wanted to prove that they could take care of themselves. Enough handouts. Sixteen people against two Isles of the Deep's worth of Mind Worms.

My fault.

No. Dammit. Move, body. Move! I could not let this happen.

These people were unique in all the universe. Only I, a clone, was disposable. They should just throw me overboard and then pass safely to The Flowers Preach. It was perfectly fine for me to die to secure their safety. Every life lost under my care is a light forever removed from the cosmos. [ACT:SUBMIND:NOTE\SEARCH_FILES:keyword:CORE_PATTERNING]

Leave me, I wanted to shout. But they would not. Because in the short time we've been together, I had become... their _friend_. I am a liability, and they would protect me as I lay there limp and useless.

_Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends._

Unacceptable. Unacceptable!

I opened my mouth and screamed to the universe "UNACCEPTABLE!"

* * *

-o-

OVERRIDE \ ARM:COMMANDER_PRIME

OVERRIDE \ AUTH:ARMHIGHCOMMAND:LORD_PRESIDENT

OVERRIDE:ARM:COMMANDER_PRIME \ READY

DIRECTIVE:ARM:COMMANDER_PRIME \ OPERATION:NANANANA:CAN_TOUCH_THIS

RESPONSE:ARM:COMMANDER_PRIME \ EXECUTE

-o-

####

* * *

MEMSTOR keyword "**Significant Planets**"  
MEMSTOR keyword subselection "The False Dawn, Battle Reports, GWERA 2000, list top five, exclude: Empyrrean"

\- n retrieved:

\- n listing:

1) **Core Prime**

"The once great world of Core Prime now lies a broken and empty shell, an enormous chasm opened straight to the core of the planet and to the old home of Central Consciousness."

2)** Hub**

Known for the strange gravitational phenomenon that makes the starports on this world famous, Hub has seen its share of travelers from all across the galactic sector. All major trade routes through this sector eventually find their way to Hub for that big leap across space. Hub has even seen its share of warfare over the centuries, as the tactical advantage of holding such a world is undoubted.

3) **Ralova**

"Cloning is a tricky business. Genetic material is easily made but not as easily controlled. This is the lesson to be learned by the history books of Ralova. Scores of experiments were conducted on this world far away from Empyrrean by Arm geneticists trying to perfect the cloning process. With the war fluctuating so much, there was no choice but to build the better clone.

The goal was to create a better body, something with faster reflexes, keener senses, and the ability to tear the head off of an AK without batting an eye.

Time and time again, failed subjects would stride from the cloning chambers. The biggest flaw in the Clone Research Laboratories on Ralova were soon realized. _There was no truly effective way to dispose of the failures_.

The decision would make any self-respecting Core Commander shudder with glee. Arm geneticists abandoned the lot of failed experiments onto a nearby asteroid, strapped on a propulsion system, and sent their failures rocketing into a star. They missed."

4) **Rikki**

"A faint blue glow can be seen in the night sky over the world of Rikki where a massive heap of machinery stretches towards the stars. This is the generator of the anti-gravity field that creates the Gravity Well tunnels between the ODS planets.

The giant citadel of a generator is not exactly easy to hide, current cloaking technology unable to cover objects of this size. Instead, the generator, which is large enough to be visible from orbit, is camouflaged as a collection of craters and pillars carved into the grey stone. Still, if the time were to come where Core were to get close enough to see the generator, Arm would have greater things to worry about."

"Core intelligence has yet to realize it, but this is as far as their long range scanning really goes in this sector. The Gravity Wells of Rikki take the deep-space scanning signals and redirect them past Ralova, creating the illusion that none of the worlds actually exist. An impressive technology from a group of impressive clones."

**5) CORE Orbital Weapon**

"In the center of this engagement zone lies a mountainous construction of metal. Deep beneath it, huge energy compressors work feverishly, storing power into monstrous battery cells.

As the cold metal blast shields draw back, the energy stolen straight from the molten core of this world streams out in a concentrated blast capable of as much as making a small star go supernova.

For 'public relations' reasons, the weapon is seldom used. Still, this does not prevent patterns from "testing" the weapon on uninhabited star systems. The implications of what could happen if directed at a planet would make even the hardiest clone weak in the knees. Luckily for the Arm, the world of Empyrrean is usually blocked by at least one other world."

####

* * *

Author notes: These are taken from the old Boneyards Briefing Archives.


End file.
